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THE YOUNG PURITANS 

OF 

OLD HADLEY. 





Submit, thou canst ne’er guess what 1 have to show 

thee ! *’ 


/ 

¥oung puritan ^crie^ 


THE 


YOUNG PURITANS 

OF 

OLD HADLEY. 


BY i 

MARY P.TWELLS SMITH, 

AUTHOR OF “jOLLY GOOD TIMES; OR, CHILD LIFE ON A FARM,” 
“JOLLY GOOD TIMES AT HACKMATACK,” “the 
BROWNS,” “THEIR CANOE TRIP,” ETC. 



Of CO ‘ 
? t fi IGh 



ILLUSTRATED BY L. J. BRIDGMAN. 


BOSTON : 

ROBERTS BROTHERS. 

1897. 

L- 



Copyright , 1897, 

By Roberts Brothers. 



SSntbersttg ^rrss : 

John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. 


DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY 

OF 

HHg -tfatfyrr, 

DR. NOAH S. WELLS, 

On this his birthday, in loving remembrance of my debt to his 
influence and training. Himself a descendant on both sides from 
the old Puritan stock, and of a strong historical and antiquarian 
bent, his true stories of the olden time ( often told him in his boy- 
hood by actors in the scenes described ), not only were a constant 
delight in childhood, but were among the strongest influences that 
bent “ the twig ” as the tree ' s inclined. 


August 7, 1897. 





PREFACE. 

T HIS is the first attempt in the writer’s 
knowledge to depict the life of Puritan 
children for young people. While a fascinating 
task, it has been one not without its difficulties. 
Two hundred years ago, the sayings and doings 
of children, instead of being watched, chron- 
icled, and quoted as now, were little considered. 
That “ children should be seen and not heard,” 
was a repressive maxim rigidly enforced even 
in the childhood of many New Englanders still 
living. Reference to children is but scanty and 
incidental in the records of the old Puritan 
times. 

But child nature is essentially the same in all 
ages and climes, save as modified somewhat by 
surrounding influences. The tale of the two bad 
boys who cried, “ Go up, thou bald head,” to 
Elijah, to be speedily and fitly devoured by “ two 


Vlll 


PREFACE. 


she-bears,” was doubtless inserted in the Hebrew 
narrative of centuries ago because there were 
Hebrew boys then and there needing such an 
admonition. We feel the kinship of the Puritan 
boys both with those of Elijah’s time and the boys 
of to-day, when we read in Sewall’s diary such 
incidents as these : — 

The boys of Boston, in 1662, “ seeing Capt. 
Breeden in a strange garb, made an outcry from 
one end of the streets to the other, calling him a 
Devil. The people came out of their houses to see 
what was the matter.” And one April first 
Sewall records, “ I have heard a child of six years 
old say within these two or three days that one 
should tell a man his shoes were unbuckled (when 
they were indeed buckled) and then he would stoop 
down to buckle them ; and then he was an April 
fool.” 

Not only child nature but human nature is prac- 
tically the same in all ages. Despite their grim- 
ness, there was plenty of human nature in the 
Puritans. True, they were “ heaven-bound.” As 
Cotton Mather said, “ Great numbers merely took 
New England on the way to heaven.” The near, 
constant, felt presence of God, and it must be 
added, of Satan also, lent solemnity and gloom to 


PREFACE. 


IX 


lives of necessary hardship and toil, lived with such 
intensity of moral and religious earnestness as the 
world has seldom elsewhere witnessed. a Duty was 
the object of life, and the Bible its rule,” truly 
says Douglas Campbell. 

Yet the Puritan had a very human relish for 
creature comforts (witness Sewall passim) when 
they could be enjoyed with a clear conscience. 
Nor was he devoid of the ordinary passions and 
feelings. Then, as now, life was softened and 
brightened by home love ; the tender, self-sacrific- 
ing love of parents for children, the affection of 
children for parents and each other ; by the all 
surrounding beauty of nature, in which the grate- 
ful heart saw God’s special love and care for His 
children manifested ; and by the joy that comes of 
energy, devotion to an aim, the consciousness of 
power successfully used for worthy ends. 

“ Not as the flying come, 

In silence and in fear ; — 

They shook the depths of the desert gloom 
With their hymns of lofty cheer. 

u Amidst the storm they sang, 

And the stars heard, and the sea ; 

And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang 
To the anthem of the free.” 


X 


PREFACE. 


This story may be said to be true, in that it is 
closely based on historical facts. May it help make 
more vivid to the children of to-day the hardships 
endured by their forefathers and foremothers in 
the settlement of this country, as well as their 
devotion, high aims, and religious zeal ! 

MARY P. WELLS SMITH. 

Greenfield, Mass., 

August 7, 1S97. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Travelling through the Wilderness . . 1 

II. Along the Bay Path 14 

III. A Night in the Woods 32 

IV. The Journey’s End 43 

V. A Mysterious Stranger 59 

VI. A Puritan Sabbath 72 

VII. Tije Scarlet Gewgaw 89 

VIII. On Mount Holyoke 103 

IX. The Bear 116 

X. The Bound Girl 125 

XI. The Bewitched Child 144 

XII. Granny Allison to the Rescue .... 159 

XIII. The Jaunt to Springfield 170 

XIV. Shopping in Springfield 182 

XV. Submit and the Poppet 201 

XVI. Sundry Roisterers 222 

XVII. Going to Thursday Lecture 239 

XVIII. Hunting for the Bay Mare 259 

XIX. The Great Burning 273 

XX. Unwelcome Guests . . 290 

XXI. Winter in Earnest . 301 

XXII. The Dame School 312 

XXIII. Forebodings of War 330 




THE YOUNG PURITANS 


OF 

OLD HADLEY. 


CHAPTER I. 

TRAVELLING THROUGH THE WILDERNESS. 

“ T T OW much farther must we journey to-day, 
^ ^ father ? ” asked Prudence, from her seat 
on the pillion behind her father, as they plodded 
along the Bay Path through the woods, westward. 

“ Art weary, child ? ” asked her father, glanc- 
ing back, not untenderly, at the small gray hood 
whose top he could barely see over his shoulder. 

“ Yea, father. It will gladden me when I can 
get down from the horse. The path is so rough 
it jolts me, and my side acheth.” 

“ Prudence is more of a baby than little Abigail. 
She doth not complain,” called back John, who 
rode before his father, driving two cows and some 
oxen. 

“ My son,” said John’s mother, “ speak not un- 
to your sister. This hath been a toilsome 

l 



2 


THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 


jaunt through the wilderness, e’en for older folk. 
Prudence’s arms are but short, and ’t is wearisome 
clasping her father and jolting over the rough path 
all day long. Pruda hath been a brave little maid 
ever since we left Old England.” 

Prudence’s tired face brightened, and her heart 
felt warmed and comforted, as she heard her 
mother’s words, and, looking back, caught her lov- 
ing glance. 

“ In truth, little Abigail hath forgot her troubles,” 
continued the mother, looking down on the four- 
year-old child she carried in her arms. “ She hath 
fallen fast asleep from weariness.” 

“ And Nathan noddeth, and would tumble off the 
horse, did not my arms make a stout fence about 
him,” said the father. 

Nathan, a sturdy boy of seven, on the horse be- 
fore his father, rubbed his eyes at this, and said : 

“ I am not o’er sleepy, father, but I am sore 
hunsrrv.” 

“ My children,” said the father, “ we must bear 
without murmuring these lesser trials. God, of 
His great goodness, hath been pleased to bring us 
safely thus far on our way through manifold perils 
by sea, and in this vast wilderness, filled with 
cruel savages and wild beasts, He hath led and sus- 
tained us. To Him be the praise and the glory ! ” 

“ Amen,” said the mother, with a reverent up- 
ward look. 


TRAVELLING THROUGH THE WILDERNESS. 3 

But Prudence, at her father’s words, looked 
fearfully into the woods each side the narrow 
path. The sun, low in the west, sent but a few 
lingering, broken rays sparkling in her eyes through 
the overhanging tree branches that brushed against 
her as she rode. Dark shadows began to gather 
in the depths of the silent, solemn forest. 

Prudence said nothing, for she would not have 
John think she was afraid, John, who was four- 
teen, and thought he was a man because he carried 
a snaphance like his father. But her heart beat 
so fast and hard that it seemed as if her father 
must feel it even through his thick doublet, and 
she clutched him more tightly. Yonder huge 
bowlder overhanging their path — how easy for 
the savages to hide behind it, and spring out upon 
them ! 

Hark ! Did not her strained ears catch a rus- 
tling sound among the leaves ? An instant more, 
and a fox, startled at the strange sound of hoofs 
in his woodland haunts, darted across the path 
and disappeared beneath the thick underbrush. 

u Ha ! ” exclaimed John, raising the clumsy 
musket swung across his saddle and aiming it, but 
too late, “ had not Sir Fox been so spry, I ’d e’en 
have had his yellow skin for a cap.” 

“ Thou need’st to be spry thyself, John, and 
alert, too, now thou hast come to dwell in the 
wilderness,” said his father. 


4 


THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 


“ Have no fears, father,” said John confidently ; 
“ thou shalt see.” 

It was only when they were about going on 
shipboard that John had become the proud owner 
of one of the new firelock guns, called snaphances, 
bought by his father in London. Few were the 
boys of his age in England that owned a snap- 
liance, and that John knew right well. It was 
with a longing for adventure that he penetrated 
the wilderness. He almost hoped the Indians 
would attack them. 

“I would slay them e’en as my Grandsire Ellis 
smote the king’s brave troopers, hip and thigh, at 
Marston Moor, in the good times of Cromwell. 
My father should see that I am fit to bear a snap- 
hance,” thought John to himself, as he replaced 
his gun with loving care. 

Reuben Ellis, his wife and their four children, 
had left their home in England, unable longer to 
endure the hardships imposed on non-conformists 
since the Restoration. Twice had Goodman Ellis 
been dragged from the conventicle to a prison for 
worshipping God in the fashion that seemed to 
him the truth ; a fashion he proposed not to yield 
even at the cost of his life. 

Like many another Puritan, his thoughts had 
begun to turn towards the new settlements in 
America, as the promised land into which God 
was leading his afflicted people. The outlook in 


TRAVELLING THROUGH THE WILDERNESS. 5 

England for the “ Fanatiques,” as the Cavaliers 
scoffingly dubbed them, grew constantly darker. 

Meantime, letters from friends who had ven- 
tured into the American wilderness strengthened 
the growing resolve in Goodman Ellis’s heart to 
forsake his native land, and cast in his lot with 
his brethren across the wide Atlantic. Quietly 
converting as much of his possessions into money 
as he could, leaving the rest in care of faithful 
kinsfolk, bringing only a few necessities, he and 
his family had embarked on the good ship “ Lyon,” 
landing, after many weeks of weary sailing, at 
Boston. 

Now they were journeying along the Bay Path 
to Hadley, where Ellis had decided to settle, in- 
fluenced by urgent letters from his cousin Philip 
Smith, one of the “ engagers,” setting forth the 
fertility of the meadow land, and the many in- 
ducements to join the Hadley brethren in up- 
building a Christian settlement in the desirable 
valley of the Connecticut. 

Although the country at this time — the sum- 
mer of 1674, the year before King Philip’s war 
— was at peace with the Indians, it had been felt 
prudent to abide in Boston until a little party of 
twenty persons was collected who wished to 
travel the Bay Path, and who would be company 
and protection for each other. At Quinsigamond 
Pond several had left their company : Daniel 


6 


THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 


Gookin, Thomas Prentice, and others, who hoped 
to begin a settlement in that beautiful spot, then 
unbroken wilderness. 

John and Prudence were old enough to enter 
on this new life with all that fresh enjoyment of 
novelty peculiar to children. In the streets of 
Boston they had seen their first Indians ; and 
strange enough had these wild denizens of the 
forest looked to their English eyes. Prudence 
could not shake off the impression of fear and 
aversion she felt at sight of them. 

When near Quinsigamond Pond they had seen 
their first Indian village, and here her impressions 
had been more agreeable. For the natives here 
being praying Indians, disciples of John Eliot of 
Roxbury, had proved most friendly. Indeed, in 
the opinion of the children, one of the pleasantest 
parts of their journey had been this stop over 
night at Pakachoag Hill, where the fresh fish and 
game, which the Indians were glad to sell for 
some of the wampum beads with which their 
father had carefully provided himself in Boston, 
had been a delightful change from their coarse, 
dry fare. 

Several of their travelling companions would 
leave them at the new settlement of Quabaug, but 
Nathaniel Warner of Hadley, who travelled post 
to and from Boston, the chief link between the 
isolated settlement and the outside world ; Mr. 


TRAVELLING THROUGH THE WILDERNESS. 7 

Peter Tilton, who had been down to the Bay on 
weighty business of his own and the plantation’s ; 
and four soldiers bound from the Bay for Hadley, 
would travel with them to their journey’s end. 

The narrow path, originally an Indian trail, 
hardly a foot wide (for the Indians always trav- 
elled in single file), had been widened here and 
there by felling trees or clearing away underbrush, 
so that horses could pass through, but so narrow 
was it still that two travellers could not ride 
abreast. The little procession filed along singly, 
two soldiers leading it, and two bringing up the 
rear. 

As the twilight shadows began to deepen, above 
the plaintive cries of the whip-poor-will they began 
to hear the u boom, boom,” of a frog chorus, and 
presently, through the trees, they saw dimly 
glimmering a sheet of water, and soon came out 
on the shores of a large pond. 

“We must be nearing Quabaug,” said Good- 
man Ellis. “ An I mistake not, this must be 
the pond which we were told lay near that 
plantation.” 

“ Yea, Goodman Ellis, thou art right,” said one 
of the soldiers. “ This is Quabaug Pond. I thought 
we should reach here before shutting in, but we 
have travelled but slowly. Let thy wife and 
little ones be of good cheer. We shall shortly be 
under the shelter of a friendly roof. Sergeant 


8 


THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 


John Ayres keepeth here a comfortable ordinary, 
where we may tarry and refresh ourselves.” 

As they stopped to let the horses and cattle 
drink from the pond, John exclaimed, — 

“ Father, I see a light through the trees ! ” 

“Art sure, boy?” said his father. “I see 
nought.” 

“ Yea. There, I see it again, high up, as if on 
a hill,” said John. 

“ The boy is right,” said Nathaniel Warner. 
“ That is the light from Sergeant Ayres’ ordinary, 
which is strongly built, and standeth on a height, 
for greater security in case of an Indian attack. 
Sometimes the thick waving branches hide it from 
our sight. But we shall soon reach the plantation 
now.” 

Soon all saw plainly the twinkling light which 
John’s sharp eyes had been the first to discover. 

The tired travellers were cheered and comforted 
by the glimmer of this light, proof that they were 
nearing a settlement of friends, the only settlement 
of whites in the wilderness they were travelling 
between the Bay and the Connecticut. With fresh 
courage they urged on their tired horses, and were 
soon climbing the hill where stood the little cluster 
of possibly a dozen small houses which made Qua- 
baug settlement. The sentinel, already pacing up 
and down the grassy street, was quick to catch the 
sound of horses’ hoofs, and when, through the 


TRAVELLING THROUGH THE WILDERNESS. 9 

gathering darkness, the first horseman was dimly 
seen ascending the path, presented his gun, calling : 

“ Stand ! Who goes there ? ” 

“ Friends and brethren in the Lord, from the 
Bay and Old England,” answered the soldier. 

The travellers were warmly welcomed by the 
isolated settlers, whose only glimpse of or news 
from the outside world was given by the occasional 
stopping of parties of travellers along the Bay 
Path. Friendly hands lifted down Nathan, stum- 
bling with sleepiness, and Goodwife Ellis and 
Prudence, so stiff with long jolting over the rough 
path that they could hardly stand. 

“ Give me the babe, friend,” said a strongly built 
woman, who looked both kind and resolute. 
“ Thou art sore weary, methinks.” 

“ Yea, thou art right. I am unused to journey- 
ing so long through the woods. We are but freshly 
come from Old England.” 

“ From Old England ? Then thou art doubly 
welcome, for ’t is long since we have had letters, 
and no doubt thou canst give us late tidings of 
our brethren there, who are sore beset by persecu- 
tion,” said Goodwife Marks. 

“ Yea, lewdness and idolatry prevail there more 
and more,” said Goodwife Ellis, “ and threatenings 
and slaughter are breathed out daily against God’s 
people.” 

Goodwife Marks escorted Goodwife Ellis and her 


10 the YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

children into the ordinary, while Sergeant Ayres, 
Corporal Coy, and others of the men helped the 
travellers tether their animals near the inn, where 
they fell eagerly to cropping the wild grass grow- 
ing thickly in the clearing. 

Although it was June, the night air in the woods 
was so damp and cool as to make most cheerful 
the sight of a bright blaze in the great stone fire- 
place, extending almost across one side of the 
common room of the ordinary. On the huge crane 
over its brightly burning logs, Goodwife Marks, 
aided by other women of the settlement who had 
come in to help as well as to see the new-comers, 
had swung a great iron pot, and presently the 
savory odor of bean porridge and of fish fresh from 
the pond broiling on the coals, sharpened appetites 
that needed little whetting. When this food was 
placed on the table, with coarse rye and Indian 
bread, milk for the children, and home-brewed 
beer for the older folk, supper was ready. 

But before the company seated themselves 
around the table, they stood reverently, while Mr. 
Tilton in a long prayer gave thanks to God who 
had guided them thus far safely on their way, 
craving His further mercies. 

o 

As Mistress Marks stepped briskly about, serving 
her guests, Nathaniel Warner said jokingly, — 

“ Hast had any encounters with the savages of 
late, good Mistress Marks ? ” 


TRAVELLING THROUGH THE WILDERNESS. H 

“ An I hadst, I would do my duty, and that thou 
knowest full well, Nathaniel Warner,” replied 
Mistress Marks, with a snap of her black eyes. 

She lifted the trap door, and went down cellar 
for more milk. While she was away, Nathaniel 
took occasion to tell the Ellises, — 

“ Being strangers in these parts, thou mayst not 
know how valiant our women folk can be in a 
strait. Good wife Marks here was left alone in 
the garrison house one day, her husband and the 
other men having gone to the meadow to work. 
She saw Indians that she deemed unfriendly, lurk- 
ing in the woods, designing, she thought, to fall 
upon the garrison house if they found it unguarded. 
Nothing daunted, she put on her husband’s wig, 
hat, and greatcoat, shouldered his musket, and 
marched up and down on top the fortification, cry- 
ing ever and anon, like any sentinel, ‘ All ’s well ! 
all \s well ! ’ The enemy retreated, not daring to 
attack the fort, thinking it well manned.” 

“ That was bravely done,” said Goodman Ellis. 

“ I doubt I could do such service,” said Good- 
wife Ellis, “ unless the Lord strengthened the 
feeble knees.” 

John looked with added respect at Goodwife 
Marks, as she emerged from the cellar with a pew- 
ter basin of milk, and then took from the table 
the wooden trencher so quickly emptied, to pile it 
high again with bread. 


12 the YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

“ Verily, the first time I ever heard of aught 
good coming from periwigs,” said Mr. Tilton. 

“ Art telling that tale again, Nathaniel War- 
ner?” asked G-oodwife Marks, with flushed cheek. 
“ Methinks ’t w T ere as well to let it rest. I did but 
my duty. ’T is no matter for vain glory, or idle 
speech.” 

“ I some time since found it against m} T con- 
science to wear a wig, and have abandoned the 
practice, as contrary to nature, and doubtless dis- 
pleasing to the Lord,” said Goodman Marks, ad- 
dressing Mr. Tilton, whose good opinion he 
desired, knowing him to be one of the most wor- 
shipful assistants of Hadley plantation, a judge, a 
deacon, and a representative to the General Court. 

“’Twas well done,” said Mr. Tilton. “ Our 
godly preachers at the Bay have delivered sundry 
weighty discourses of late against the pernicious 
vanity of periwigs.” 

“ Methinks ’t is but a poor time to discourse of 
periwigs,” said Goodwife Marks, who seemed little 
oppressed with awe of dignitaries. “ The heavy 
eyes of these little ones show that they should be 
in bed, and I trow, Goodwife Ellis, thou wilt not 
be sorry to stretch thyself upon a couch again, 
e’en if it be not a bed of down.” 

“ Worshipful Mr. Tilton, wilt thou return 
thanks ? ” asked Sergeant Ayres. 

Again all stood while Mr. Tilton returned 


TRAVELLING THROUGH THE WILDERNESS. 13 

thanks at some length. This was no empty form. 
The helpless handful of people in the wilderness 
felt comforted after they had placed themselves 
under God’s protection for the night, and craved 
His guidance and care for the future. 

Goodwife Marks took Goodwife Ellis and the 
little girls up the rude, ladder-like stairs into 
the loft overhead, where were two beds for the 
women. Such extra bedding as the house afforded 
was spread on the floor in the room below for the 
men. 

Nathan, sleepy as he was, looked longingly after 
his mother as she followed Goodwife Marks away. 
But he thought stoutly to himself, — 

“ I must not be a baby, like Abigail, now I have 
come to live in the wilderness. Father saith I 
must begin to be a man now. Perchance, by and by, 
I too can have a snaphance of my own, like John.” 

He lay down on the floor beside his father and 
John. The soldiers, rolled in their blankets, were 
already snoring loudly. The bed of coals in the 
fireplace having been buried in ashes to keep fire 
till morning, the room was left in darkness. 
Without was the steady tramp, tramp of the 
watch, to and fro. 

“ ’T is good to sleep under a roof again,” thought 
Nathan, as, comforting himself with visions of the 
gun he hoped to have some day, he snuggled closer 
to his father, and fell fast asleep. 


CHAPTER II. 


ALONG THE BAY PATH. 



RUDENCE was awakened in the morning 


X first by the bright morning sun, whose long 
rays streamed in at the curtainless windows full in 
her face, and secondly by her little sister, who was 
amusing herself by climbing over her, pulling her, 
and saying, — 

“ Wake up, Prudence. Wake up, and play with 



“ Hush, Abigail,” said Prudence, but smiling as 
she met the bright, roguish eyes of the little one, 
“ thou wilt waken mother, who needeth rest so 
sorely. Be quiet, and sister will dress thee, and 
we will slip down stairs and out for a look at this 
strange place whither we came in the night.” 

Quiet as the children tried to be, their mother 
wakened, for those whose minds are heavy with 
care sleep lightly. 

“I will dress Abigail, mother,” said Prudence. 
“ Thou need’st not hasten. ’T is yet early.” 

“ But we must start betimes, for it is yet two 
long days’ journey ere we reach Hadley,” said the 
mother, hastily rising. 


ALONG THE BAY PATH. 15 

“ Dost think we shall truly reach Hadley to- 
morrow night ? ” asked Prudence. 

“ Yea, if it be God’s will, and His mercies fail 
not, we shall see our new home to-morrow.” 

“ I long greatly to see it,” said Prudence. 

It took but a short time to tie the strings of the 
children’s few and simply made garments, and 
then Prudence helped Abigail down the steep 
stairs into the common room below. 

The men were up and out long ago, a big fire 
blazed in the fireplace, and active preparations 
for breakfast were going on. Some venison 
frying over the coals smelt most inviting to the 
children, as fresh meat of any kind had been such 
a rarity, both on the long voyage and in their 
journey from Boston, and Abigail stopped, saying : 

“ I want my breakfast, Prudence.” 

“ Little girls should not ask for breakfast till 
they are bid,” said Goodwife Marks, briskly. 
“ Go out doors now, and I will warn you with the 
conch shell when the breakfast hour has come.” 

The girls found their brothers out among the 
cattle and horses, John helping his father saddle 
the horses, and bind various packs and bundles on 
the animals’ backs. Nathan had made friends 
with a big brown and white dog, who seemed as 
pleased with Nathan as Nathan with him. 

“Come and see this goodly dog,” said Nathan. 

“ It mindeth me of England to see a dog again,” 


16 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

said Prudence. “ ’T is the first we have seen since 
we left Boston.” 

“That is a hound,” said John. “He is gentle; 
see how he suffereth Abigail to pull his ears ; 
yet he is brave, and a famous dog for hunting, 
young Goodman Warner saith.” 

“ Dost wish for a dog ? ” asked young Eleazer 
Warner, who was helping Goodman Ellis. “ I 
can give thee a hound, the mate to this, if thy 
father is willing.” 

All the children looked eagerly at their father, 
and his deliberation seemed long to them, before 
he said, — 

“ I judge a dog cannot fail to be useful in the 
wilderness. I accept thy gift, Eleazer, and thank 
thee for it.” 

“A good dog is almost equal to another man," 
said Eleazer. 

John went oft with Eleazer, and soon returned 
down the grassy lane between the houses, leading 
a young hound, who leaped and bounded around 
his new master as far as his strap allowed in most 
friendly fashion. 

“ What a goodly dog ! ” said Prudence. “ It 
gladdens me to have a dog of our own. What 
shall we call him ? ” 

“His name is Watch,” said John. “Here, 
Watch, Watch ! ” 

Watch frisked up to John, wagging his tail. 


ALONG THE BAY PATH. 


17 


“ Watch is part my dog,” said Nathan. 

“ He belongeth to us all, doth he not, John ? ” 
asked Prudence. 

“ Yea,” said John, “but I shall take him hunt- 
ing with me, when I go out in the forest with 
my gun.” 

u It will be prudent to lead him by the strap 
until he becomes wonted to thee,” said Eleazer. 
“ But he liketh young folk, so he will shortly 
follow thee of his own accord. Small blame to 
him for liking such a fresh young English maid 
as Mistress Prudence,” added he, pinching Pru- 
dence’s round cheek, which bloomed forth from her 
close gray hood as freshly as an opening rose. 

Prudence cast her eyes shyly down, her cheeks 
blooming a deeper red, while her father said 
severely, — 

“ Eleazer, thou speakest as the foolish ones. 
Vain words profit little.” 

Here, somewhat to Eleazer’s relief, a loud 
blast on the conch shell gave the welcome call to 
breakfast. 

At the table, many inquiries were made of 
Reuben Ellis about the brethren in England, and 
he in turn asked, — 

“ Is danger apprehended from the savages about 

O 

you ? 

“ Those about us, of the Nipmuck tribe, profess 
friendliness,” said Sergeant Ayres ; “ but we hear 


18 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

rumors of trouble feared from King Philip by the 
Plymouth Colony. In truth, I trust none of them 
farther than I can see them. ’T is always prudent 
for our settlers to be watchful.” 

“ The Mohawks sorely disturb the peace of our 
plantations on the Connecticut,” said Mr. Tilton. 
“ They full oft kill our cattle and swine in the 
woods. We have lately sent a complaint to their 
chief sachem at Albany, demanding reparation for 
these damages. They molest our friendly Indians, 
the Norwottucks and Pocumtucks, who ofttimes 
come into our plantations for protection from 
these enemy Indians, and become sorely burden- 
some to our good housewives.” 

“ I can well believe that, good Mr. Tilton,” said 
Goodwife Marks. “ Gladly would I be free from 
the grievous trial of having these greasy savages 
lying about the fire in our kitchens.” 

“ It would be an ill policy to offend them, 
nevertheless,” said Sergeant Ayres, “ so our good 
women must needs submit with patience to this 
trial, Goodwife Marks.” 

“ We housewives have oft and sore need of 
patience here in the wilderness, and that thou 
wilt soon learn, Mistress Ellis,” said Goodwife 
Marks. 

“ I came not into the wilderness as one on a 
pleasure jaunt,” said Goodwife Ellis. 

Breakfast over, Reuben Ellis paid Sergeant 


ALONG THE BAY PATH. 19 

Ayres for their entertainment with sundry strings 
of wampum beads, saying, — 

“ This seemeth but heathenish money, in place 
of good English shillings.” 

“ It serveth better our purpose here in the 
wilderness,” replied the sergeant, “ for otherwise 
we must depend solely on bartering. English 
shillings grow not on the bushes hereabouts.” 

Two processions now started away from the door 
of the ordinary. The travellers for Springfield 
took the path in that direction ; while those for 
Hadley took the branch of the Bay Path lead- 
ing through the present towns of Ware and 
Belchertown. 

The Quabaug settlers stood, shading their eyes 
to watch the travellers out of sight, bidding them 
friendly good-byes, with many a “ God speed ye.’’ 
In happy ignorance that another summer would 
see Quabaug deserted, its houses blackened, smok- 
ing ruins, Sergeant Ayres, Corporal Coy, and 
others slaughtered in its defence, the travellers 
journeyed on into the woods, much refreshed by 
the good night’s rest in its friendly shelter. 

At this early morning hour, the forest was no 
longer sombre. Its cool shade was a pleasant 
shelter . from the sun’s rays, which only glanced in 
here and there, flecking mossy rocks- and tree 
trunks and the grassy path with waving, changing 
spots of brightness. Sweet odors of pines and 


20 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

hemlocks and ferns, and all the moist fragrance of 
the woods, made breathing the pure air a delight. 
Overhead the birds sang joyously, untaught as yet 
to fear man. 

The travellers felt the bright influence of the 
morning, and Goodwife Ellis, looking up into the 
branches of an overhanging maple where a robin 
red-breast was pouring out a flood of music, said : 

“ The fowls of the air are making merry in 
their hearts unto the Lord this morn.” 

“ What bird is that, mother?” asked Prudence. 

“ I know not,” said her mother. “ It resembleth 
our English thrush, methinks.” 

“ E’en the fowls of the air admonish us of our 
duty,” said Mr. Tilton. “ Let us too uplift a song 
of praise to the Lord, as we journey on our way.” 

He struck up the seventh psalm. 

“ Oh Lord my God, I put my trust 
and confidence in thee ; 

Save me from them that me pursue, 
and eke deliver me. 

Lest like a Lyon he me tear 
and rend in pieces small ; 

Whilst there is none to succor me, 
and rid me out of thrall.” 

All, even the soldiers and children, joined in 
the psalm, whose melody rang cheerfully through 
the aisles of the forest, and lightened the Puritans’ 


ALONG THE BAY PATH. 21 

hearts with a comforting sense of God’s nearness 
and protection. 

John, who took turns with his father in alter- 
nately riding or walking to drive the cattle, was 
now walking, leading Watch. Nathan too had 
begged to be allowed to walk, to be nearer Watch, 
who seemed rather depressed in spite of Nathan’s 
attentions, plodding on soberly enough at John’s 
heels. 

No rapid progress could be made by such a 
party as this, hampered by children and cattle ; 
so her mother readily assented when Prudence 
asked, — 

“ May I get down and walk a piece with John ? ” 

To walk was often found a welcome rest during 
a long day’s jaunt on horseback. 

“ Suffer me to lead Watch now, John,” said 
Prudence. 

“ We are so far from Quabaug, 1 will e’en ven- 
ture to take off his strap,” said John. 

Watch showed his delight at regaining his 
freedom by circling wildly around and around the 
children, barking loudly, ending by jumping up so 
violently on Nathan as to knock him down. 

This made little Abigail laugh, from her perch 
high up on the brown mare before her mother, 
and she begged, wriggling to get down, — 

“ Let me walk too.” 

“ No, little one, thy short legs would soon weary,” 


22 the YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

said her mother. “ Content thee to ride here with 
mother. At the nooning, thou too canst play 
with the dog.” 

Their path now ran between a swamp and a high 
hill, and here a lovely sight greeted the eyes 
of the travellers. Mountain laurel bushes in 
full bloom bordered the swamp and gleamed up the 
hillside among the tall trees, their shining green 
leaves and silvery blossoms a novel sight to Eng- 
lish eyes. No wonder little Puritan Prudence was 
so delighted that she cried, — 

“ See, mother, see the brave show of blossoms ! 
They look like little silver cups, hanging on the 
bushes. I will gather some for thee and Abigail,” 
she cried, plunging into the bushes. 

“ Yea, the blossoms are most strange and beau- 
teous,” said her mother. “ But have a care, child, 
how thou leavest the path. The wilderness 
aboundeth with huge serpents, we hear, some with 
rattles in their tails that have a mortal sting. 
And ’t is commonly reported that there are lions 
here too. Have a care.” 

“ I will only gather those beside the path, 
mother,” said Prudence, so absorbed in her flowers 
that she hardly heard her mother’s warning. 

“ I have a root of the snake-weed in my pouch,” 
said Nathaniel Warner. u If one bite on that as 
soon as stung, ’t is said to work an effectual cure. 
But ’tis well for the little maid to be prudent. 


ALONG THE BAY PATH. 23 

We know not what wild beasts may lurk under 
the bushes.” 

At this, Prudence withdrew rather suddenly into 
the path, her hands full of the flowers. 

She had thrust a few blossoms into the front of 
her dull blue gown, and she said joyously, — 

“ These blossoms have no sweet odor, like the 
wild roses that grew so plentifully near Boston. 
But they make the woods look full gay, as if it 
were a May day.” 

Her father frowned. 

“ Talk not of pagan feasts, child,” he said. 
“ We have come into the wilderness to leave behind 
these unlawful days and seasons, displeasing unto 
the Lord. Nor shouldst thou bedeck thy person 
with blossoms. It betokeneth a tendency to vanity 
and light-mindedness that I look not to see in 
thee.” 

Prudence looked ashamed, and hastily pulled 
the flowers from her breast. But Mr. Tilton, re- 
garding the little girl benevolently, said, — 

u Goodman Ellis, we must e'en make allowance 
for the weakness of the female heart, which ever 
craveth gewgaws while in a state of nature. And 
Prudence is but young yet.” 

“ True, and therefore would I begin now to train 
her up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. 
Satan ever watcheth to ensnare our youth,” said 
Goodman Ellis. “ Come now and mount behind 


24 the YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

me, Prudence. I would not have thee o’ertire 
thyself. And I see we approach a rivulet.” 

The path in advance was seen descending into 
the bed of a small river, whose swift current ran 
shallow now, in the summer heat. The horses 
and cattle splashed through the ford, but Watch 
swam out into the deeper places, making the water 
fly all about in a sparkling shower as he shook 
himself on the farther shore. 

The sun, overhead now, shone down directly on 
the travellers, while the surrounding woods kept 
off whatever breeze might be stirring in the open. 
The air was close and sultry, and the heat grew 
oppressive. 

“ I warrant thou findest the summer heat more 
torrid here than at home, Goodman Ellis,” said Mr. 
Tilton, as he saw Ellis remove his heavy, steeple- 
crowned hat to wipe s forehead, dripping with 
perspiration. 

“ Yea, in troth,” said Goodman Ellis. “ But 
the fires of persecution and the everlasting tor- 
ments of hell are hotter far than New England’s 
sun, and these fires we trust to escape by ventur- 
ing hither.” 

“ Thou speakest words of truth and soberness,” 
said Mr. Tilton. 

“It is the noon hour,” said Nathaniel Warner, 
“ and, if I err not, we draw near a fair spring, a 
favorable spot for our nooning.” 


ALONG THE BAY PATH. 


25 


But now every one’s attention was attracted by 
Watch, who showed great excitement, sniffing the 
ground, running forward, then back to John, and 
seeming to try his best in dog language, to tell 
him something. 

“ The dog scenteth something ; a wild beast 
perchance,” said Nathaniel Warner, hastening to 
take his gun in hand, ready for instant use, as did 
the other men. Prudence, with fast beating heart, 
clutched her father more tightly, while Good wife 
Ellis pressed little Abigail close in the mother arms 
that were so helpless, even with all her strong love, 
to shield her child. 

They were drawing nigh the spring, which was 
on a hillside, in a thick cluster of bushes deep in 
the dense shade of the forest. Below was an open 
space, an old Indian clearing probably, near the 
spring. Watch ran tow Tts the spring, barking 
violently. 

“Stay the rest of you well back,” said the sol- 
diers. “We will advance and spy out the danger.” 

The soldiers, pikes in hand, advanced to the 
thicket. Suddenly out of its concealment stepped 
a huge old Indian, his tawny body but partly 
covered with rude garments of deerskin, a bow 
and arrow in his hand. 

There was enough uncertainty about the friend- 
liness of the Indians to make all startled at 
the unexpected appearance of one in this lonely 


26 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

spot. One Indian often meant many more 
in ambush, and this handful of men, hampered 
with children and cattle, knew that they were 
poorly prepared to cope with any number of the 
savages. 

Their fears were relieved when the Indian ad- 
vanced towards them with a gesture of friendli- 
ness, crying, — 

“ Netop, Englishmen.” 

“ 4 Netop ’ signifieth ‘ my friend ’ in their savage 
tongue,” explained Mr. Tilton to Goodman Ellis, 
while Nathaniel Warner, who knew something of 
the Indian language, rode forward, saying, — 

“ Netop. Art thou not Wequogon, chief of the 
Agawams ? ” 

“ The Englishman speaks true words,” said the 
old sachem. 

“ What doth Wequogon so far from his tt: ^- 

9 >> 

warn : 

“ Wequogon hunts for game in the woods of 
his fathers, and would journey to his son’s wig- 
wam at Capawonk with the Englishmen.” 

After some further parley with Wequogon, 
Warner returned to his party, halted at a little 
distance, saying, — 

“ This is Wequogon, sachem of the Agawams, 
whose chief abode is at our neighboring settlement 
of Springfield. I have ofttimes seen him on 
Hadley street, and he hath ever professed great 


ALONG THE BAY PATH. 


27 


friendliness towards us of Hadley. ’T was of 
him and his squaw, Awonusk, that we bought the 
goodly meadow of Hoccanum, and his son, San- 
chumachu, is the chief of our Hadley Indians. 
This tract through which our journey lieth to-day 
aboundeth in wild game, and hath long been the 
favorite hunting-ground of our river Indians. 
Wequogon wisheth to journey with us for greater 
safety, having seen some signs of his enemy 
Indians, the Maquas, in the woods.” 

“ God forbid that we should encounter them ! ” 
said Goodwife Ellis, shuddering. 

u Have no fears, goodwife,” said Nathaniel 
Warner. “ The Maquas go but in small bands, 
more for thieving than war, and they dare not 
attack us now, just as their chief at Albany hath 
given pledges of amity with us. But they might 
a* jgr us, and the presence of Wequogon may be 
of service. No white man hath the keen eye and 
sharp ear that the Indian hath. I doubt some- 
times whether Satan doth not help them, for their 
keenness seemeth more than natural.” 

Having accepted Wequogon’s company, the trav- 
ellers now alighted. Their pewter vessels were 
first filled with the coolest, purest of water from 
the gushing spring on the hillside, for drinking, 
and then Goodwife Ellis and the girls washed 
their heated faces and cooled their hands in its 
clear depths. When the men had also refreshed 


28 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

themselves, the horses and cattle were suffered to 
drink, and then turned loose to eat the coarse but 
sweet wild grass growing thickly in the open space 
and among the trees, where there was no under- 
growth. 

Seeing Goodman Ellis regarding his beasts 
rather anxiously, Mr. Tilton said, — 

“ Hunger will keep our cattle near us, where 
the wild grass is so plentiful. They will not stray 
far.” 

Again the little Puritan band stood, hats on, 
heads reverently bowed, while Mr. Tilton craved 
a blessing on the poor meal, consisting of rye 
bread, smoked fish, and water from the spring. 

Wequogon seemed to have had ill success in 
hunting ; at least, he bore no game. He seated 
himself at a little distance from the others, making 
his dinner from some parched corn, ground to 
powder, which he carried in a pouch of deerskin 
hung at his belt, and which he moistened with 
water. He did not refuse some of the smoked 
fish which John, much to Prudence’s astonishment, 
carried him. 

“ I marvel greatly at John,” she whispered to 
her mother, who hushed her, lest she offend 
Wequogon. 

John, feeling all a boy’s curiosity and interest 
in the Indian, tried to make some advances to- 
wards acquaintance. 


ALONG THE BAY PATH. 29 

<( May I try this?” he asked, pointing to We- 
quogon’s bow. 

Wequogon shook his head, saying grimly, — 

“ The gun of the English boy hath a longer 
arm than Wequogon’s bow.” 

“ He hath observed my gun already,” thought 
John, “and yet he hath not seemed to look to- 
wards it.” 

Here Goodman Ellis, dinner being over, pro- 
posed, — 

“ Let us raise a psalm of thanksgiving and 
praise unto the Lord, while we tarry by the 
way.” 

As the Puritan psalm began to ring out through 
the silent forest, Wequogon’s face darkened, and 
he gave a grunt of disapproval, finally saying : 

“ The Maquas have long ears.” 

“ Wequogon deemeth it wiser not to sing in the 
forest,” said Nathaniel Warner. “ Perchance it 
were prudent to heed his warning.” 

Prudence, sitting close to her mother, gazed 
fearfully on the dark Indian. But presently her 
attention was happily diverted by John, who had 
strolled away into the wood, and now called : 

“ Prudence ! Nathan ! hasten here and see what 
I have found ! ” 

The children found John on his knees in the 
midst of a large bed of wild strawberries full of 
ripe fruit. 


30 the YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

“ Only taste and see how luscious they are,” 
cried John. 

“ I ne’er tasted aught so relishing,” said Pru- 
dence, while Nathan was eating too fast to say 
anything. 

The young men soldiers came to help Good- 
wife Ellis and the children fill pewter porringers 
with the berries, which tasted most refreshing 
after their dry, salt repast. Mr. Tilton and the 
other men still sat eating, discoursing gravely on 
matters of church and state, in Old and New 
England. 

Suddenly Wequogon, sitting alone near the 
spring, was seen to erect his head, listening in- 
tently ; then, seizing his bow and arrow, he slipped 
noiselessly away into the wood. 

“ What bodeth this ? ” asked Matthew Clark, 
one of the soldiers. 

66 Treachery, an I mistake not,” said one of 
his comrades. “ There are Indians about. See 
the horses.” 

The horses were sniffing the air, with ears 
pricked up, and every sign of alarm. 

“ Watch hath gone with him ! ’’ cried John, 
dismayed lest he had lost his precious dog. 

The delights of berry gathering came to a 
sudden end. Goodwife Ellis and the children 
were placed behind the men, who stood, match- 
locks and pikes in hand, on the alert, watching 


ALONG THE BAY PATH. 


31 


the point in the woods where Wequogon had 
vanished. 

John, grasping his gun, with fast beating heart, 
thought to himself, — 

“Now is the time to let my father see whether 
I am fit to bear a snaphance or not.” 


CHAPTER III. 


A NIGHT IN THE WOODS. 

S all stood, every nerve tense with excite- 



l\ ment, they were startled by the report of 
a gun in the distance, in the direction where 
Wequogon had disappeared. 

“ What meaneth this ? ” asked Mr. Tilton. 
“ Who hath a gun in the wilderness ? ” 

Here Watch came running out of the woods, 
barking, and showing much excitement. A few 
moments more, and Wequogon strode out from 
among the trees. 

“ The Maqua big thief,” he said. “ Wequogon’s 
foot is swift ; — the Maqua’s gun is swifter. The 
Maquas eat the Englishman’s cow.” 

This bad news was found to be too true. When 
the cattle and horses were hastily surrounded and 
driven into the open space, one of the two cows 
that Goodman Ellis had, with no little trouble and 
expense, brought from England, was found to be 
missing. She had unluckily happened to stray 
farther away from the camp than the other ani- 
mals, near the spot where a party of the sly 


A NIGHT IN THE WOODS. 


Maquas were lying in ambush, and they had 
killed her and made off with their prey in safety. 

“ This is a sore frown of God’s providence upon 
thee, Goodman Ellis,” said Mr. Tilton. 

“ I know not whether some unrepented sin hath 
kindled God’s wrath against me,” said Goodman 
Ellis, “ or whether Satan is allowed to work his 
will upon me as a meet trial of my trust and 
patience. It becometh me not to murmur against 
this heavy laying on of the Lord’s hand. But 
how happeneth it that I heard a gun ? I thought 
it was forbidden to sell firearms to the Indians.” 

“ True,” said Mr. Tilton, “ our laws are most 
strict against so doing, for our safety dependeth 
on it. But of late there have been rumors that 
some of the French in Canada, arch-enemies of the 
English, have been giving the Indians guns in 
traffic, and this confirmeth our fears.” 

The party now mounted and resumed their 
journey, the Ellises sobered by their loss. Cattle 
were as yet scarce in the wilderness, and to lose 
one of their two cows seriously affected their 
future comfort. They felt, too, a more vivid sense 
of the savage foes perhaps even then haunting their 
path, seeking not only their property but possibly 
their lives. 

Prudence no longer wished to walk, picking 
flowers and berries and enjoying the beauty and 

freshness of the woods, but clung closely to her 

3 


34 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

father, often fancying that she caught a glimpse of a 
dark face vanishing behind a tree trunk in the depth 
of the forest, or seeing an Indian’s waving feather 
in some distant fern waving harmlessly above a 
mossy log. She watched Wequogon fearfully. 

He strode on noiselessly in his moccasins, ahead 
of the soldiers, who now rode more alert, less at 
careless ease than in the morning. The road was 
hilly, the path rough and stony, and there were 
few incidents to vary the slow, weary plodding on, 
up hill and down, through the woods. 

Once Wequogon started from the path, and shot 
an arrow off into the forest, running lightly after 
it, but soon returning, empty handed. 

John caught a fleeting glimpse through the 
trees of a flock of w r ild turkeys, led by an immense 
gobbler, vanishing as if by magic almost before he 
saw them. 

“ Ah, if I could but have shot one of those 
fowls ! ” exclaimed he, raising his gun instinct- 
ively, although too late. 

“ The wild turkey maketh a delicate feast,” 
said Nathaniel Warner. “ Verily one to roast 
over the fire for our supper to-night would not 
have come amiss.” 

“ Turkey much cunning,” said Wequogon, 
calmly, seeming unruffled by his disappointment. 
“ White men’s feet make noise. Turkey’s ears 
long ears, like Indian’s.” 


A NIGHT IN THE WOODS. 


35 


“ Perchance we shall have better fortune later 
on,” said Nathaniel, while John resolved to strain 
eye and ear in imitation of Wequogon’s marvel- 
lously keen senses. 

The sun, which had been beating: down on them 
with intolerable heat, now disappeared behind 
white clouds. The slight cooling of the heated air 
that followed was a relief ; but through the gaps 
in the branches overhead, they saw dark, angry 
clouds rapidly rolling up over the blue, and mut- 
terings of thunder were heard, growing nearer and 
louder. 

It was dark and gloomy in the woods, and when 
there came a vivid flash of lightning, Goodman 
Ellis felt Prudence start violently. 

“ Father,” she said, “ I am sore afraid. The 
lightning may strike us here among the tall 
trees.” 

“ Fear not, my child,” said her father. “ ’T is 
plain that Satan seeketh in many ways to discour- 
age and hinder our journey into the wilderness. 
But the arm of the Lord is not shortened that it 
cannot save, nor His ear deaf that He cannot hear. 
If we crv unto Him, He will deliver us from the 
darts of the adversary, and the devil shall not pre- 
vail over His people.” 

Little Abigail, tired, and hearing something of 
her father’s talk, began to cry, saying something 
about “ the Black Man.” 


36 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

“ What is it that the child saith ? ” asked her 
father. “ Doth she say that she seeth the Evil 
One ? ” 

“ Nay, nay,” said the mother, “ she is but afeared 
at thy words. Mother will take thee under her 
cloak, little one, and keep thee safe from harm. 
Put on thy cloak, Prudence.” 

For now the rain came down heavily, and there 
was no protection from it but to put on the long 
gray woollen cloaks strapped to their luggage. 
The little procession was a sorry spectacle, plod- 
ding wearily along through the wet woods, 
drenched in the rain, which now drove in a white 
sheet into their faces, almost blinding them. 
Finally Mr. Tilton said, — 

“ Nathaniel, it seemeth to me ’t were wiser to 
halt for a season under the shelter of yonder thick 
pine-trees until the fierceness of the storm hath 
somewhat abated, lest we stray from the path.” 

All welcomed this suggestion. The pines af- 
forded considerable shelter from the driving storm. 
From the heart of the pine branches overhead, a 
little bird singing rapturously in the midst of the 
shower, as if it said, “ All is well, trust God,” 
cheered Prudence, she hardly knew why. 

“Yon little fowl teacheth thee a lesson, my 
daughter,” said her father. “ He fears not.” 

“I am no longer fearful, father,” said Prudence. 

“ Nor am I,” said Nathan, peeping out from 


A NIGHT IN THE WOODS. 


37 


under bis mother’s cloak, which was thrown over 
him as he rode on the brown mare’s back, on the 
pillion behind. “ This is my tent. I am one of 
the king’s troopers.” 

“ A brave trooper thou, to hide beneath a 
woman’s skirts ! ” said John, who was considerably 
raised in his own esteem since he had stood with 
his gun, unflinching, awaiting an Indian onslaught. 

“ Wait till I grow up. I will show thee what 
I can do when I am a man,” said Nathan. 

Tired Abigail, safe and warm under the cloak 
in her mother’s arms, had gone fast asleep. 

Suddenly a loud drumming sound, unfamiliar to 
English ears, rose from the thicket behind them, 
where the ground sloped down to a small stream. 

“ What is that ? ” asked John. 

“ ’T is the note of a wild bird, like the English 
partridge, that aboundeth in these woods, an I 
mistake not,” replied Nathaniel Warner. 

Watch had vanished at the first note, and 
Wequogon had also disappeared. In another 
instant, a loud whirring sound was heard, and 
Watch bounded out of the bushes to the foot of a 
pine-tree, into whose branches a large bird had 
flown. The next moment it fell to the ground 
with an arrow in its breast, and Wequogon ap- 
peared, bearing its mate, which he had also slain. 
The birds were ruffed grouse, which the English 
called partridges. 


38 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

“That was well done, Wequogon,” said Nathan- 
iel. “ Those partridges are as large and fat as 
hens. They have feasted on wild berries until they 
were too gross to escape easily. They will make 
a savory morsel for our supper to-night.” 

“ Bird’s meat taste sweet,” said the Indian, as un- 
moved by his success as he had been by his failure. 

John patted Watch and told him he was “ a 
good dog.” Watch knew he was, without being 
told. He carried his tail proudly aloft over his 
back, wagging it vigorously, and sniffed eagerly 
about the bushes, evidently hoping to flush another 
covey of partridges then and there. 

This incident, trifling though it was, served to 
divert the travellers’ minds from their discomfort. 
And when at last the storm had passed by, and the 
sun shone out brilliantly, glistening radiantly in 
the thousands of hanging raindrops that trembled 
and flashed on every bough, they resumed their 
journey in better cheer, breathing in with refresh- 
ment the reviving air, pure and fresh after the 
shower. 

As they came out into an open meadow a good 
omen gladdened their eyes. Across the eastern 
sky swung the vivid arch of a rainbow. 

“ The Lord hath set his bow in the clouds, a 
sign that he will remember his covenant and not 
again destroy his chosen people,” said Mr. Tilton, 
pointing solemnly up. 


A NIGHT IN THE WOODS. 


39 


“ I count it a good prognostic for our journey 
to-morrow/' said Goodman Ellis. “ The sailors 
on shipboard had a heathenish rhyme, which ran, 

“ ‘ Rainbow at night, 

Sailor’s delight ; 

Rainbow in morning, 

Sailors take warning.’ 

I set not much store by such talk. Yet sailor 
men are oft full wise in matters pertaining to the 
weather.” 

“ Folk in England were wont to say that if you 
journey to the spot where the rainbow" toucheth. 
the ground, you will find a pot of gold,” said 
John. 

“ Tush, boy,” said his father, “ that is but an 
old wives’ fable. Gold is not picked up so easily. 
All thou gettest out of the ground must come by 
thy own toil and sweat, an I mistake not.” 

“ Worshipful Mr. Tilton, how soon dost think 
we shall reach our camping-place?” asked Good- 
wife Ellis. “ ’T is strange, but I feel more weary 
after this day’s jaunt than from any of the days 
before. I would fain alight and rest.” 

“ Had not the storm delayed us we should have 
reached Cold Spring before shutting in,” said Mr. 
Tilton. “ There is a most copious and refreshing 
spring there, and as it lieth half way between 
Hadley and Quabaug, ’t is a spot much fre- 
quented by travellers to and from the Bay. 


40 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY 

But be of good cheer. The journey’s end draw* 
eth nigh.” 

The long summer twilight was glooming into 
dusk when the travellers at last reached Cold 
Spring. The animals were carefully tethered near 
the camp, where they could be guarded. By the 
aid of a flint and steel from a tinder box, after 
much difficulty, a bright fire was finally kindled 
from dead pine branches, by which their damp 
garments, already partly dried from the sun, were 
further dried. The cow’s milk, and the partridges 
roasted on forked sticks over the fire, gave some 
variety to the dry supper, which was yet eaten 
with a keen relish given by riding all day in the 
fresh air of the woods. 

The men cut pine branches and spread on the 
ground around the fire, which was built in a shel- 
tered place where the earth, being sandy and 
sloping, had already become comparatively dry. 
Blankets and cloaks were spread on the branches, 
and then the travellers, after commending them- 
selves to God’s unsleeping care, lay down, each 
man with his gun where he could put his hand on 
it at a moment’s warning. The soldiers took turns 
in mounting guard. The fire was to be kept 
burning brightly all. night as a protection from 
wild beasts. 

In spite of their hard beds, the tired travellers 
were all soon fast asleep, save John. Camping 


A NIGHT IN THE WOODS. 


41 


was not yet an old story to John, and perhaps the 
novelty of his situation kept him awake. Then 
there were many troublesome little insects of 
some kind strange to him that buzzed thickly 
about him, stinging his face and hands, producing 
a most tormenting: itching. 

O V 

Whatever the cause, John could not sleep, but 
rolled uneasily about on his rude bed, now looking 
up through the overhanging branches at the stars 
twinkling mysteriously far aloft, now watching 
the blaze of the fire rise and fall as it was blown 
about in fantastic forms by the night breeze, mak- 
ing it send long, black shadows from the nearer 
tree trunks shifting weirdly over the depths of the 
woods beyond, so that John could easily fancy that 
he saw dark forms moving there. 

The sentinel, gun at his shoulder, paced steadily 
up and down like an automaton on the opposite 
side of the fire. The hoot of owls came with dreary 
reiteration from the forest near by, but more 
weird and depressing was the incessant howling 
of wolves, farther away. John’s wakeful ears even 
heard the grinding sound of the cattle’s teeth a 
they cropped the thick wild grass. 

“ If the cattle would keep still, and the owls 
and wolves stop their noise, and these buzzing 
torments let me alone, I believe I could go 
to sleep,” thought John, twisting about to find 
a softer place, and get away from a big pine 


42 the YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

branch that pressed into his ribs till they 
ached. 

Suddenly he heard something else, something 
that made his heart almost stop, then beat so fast 
he could hardly breathe ; a rustling of something 
breaking through the bushes in the wood behind 
him ! 
















■ • 



























“ The head of a large white deer peered through the 
drooping branches of a white birch.” 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE JOURNEY’S END. 

J ’ OHN sprang up, seizing his gun. At the same 
moment the head of a large deer peered 
through the drooping branches of a white birch, 
its ears alert, its great bright eyes fixed on the fire, 
whose light had attracted it, and seemed to daze it. 

John’s faculties were already being quickened 
by life in the wilderness. Like a flash he raised 
his gun. Its loud report echoed through the 
forest, followed by another ringing shot from the 
sentry, who, farther away than John, had seen 
the deer an instant later. 

The deer gave a great bound and disappeared, 
followed by Watch, loudly baying. The sleepers 
all sprang to their feet, the men guns in grasp, 
while Wequogon’s hand sought his tomahawk. 

“ What is’t? Are we attacked?” asked one 
and another. 

Prudence, waking from peaceful dreams of home 
and playmates in Old England, stared bewildered 
at the strange scene, the armed men, the dark 
woods lit up by the fitful firelight, not knowing 
where she was. Then she cried, — 


44 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

“ The savages ! The savages ! They are com- 
ing ! ” and clutching her mother, hid her face in 
her cloak. 

Her mother drew the younger children closer 
to her, breathing a cry to God for protection and 
deliverance. 

John, meantime, had bounded into the bushes 
almost as swiftly as the deer, followed closely by 
Matthew Clark, the sentry. Wounded by John’s 
shot, the deer had not run far before Watch over- 
took it and pulled it down. Another shot from 
John’s gun ended the poor creature’s agony. 

“ Well done, boy!” cried Clark. “Thou hast 
brought down as noble a deer as Robin Hood and 
his Merry Men e’er slew in Sherwood Forest. I 
will help thee bear it back to camp.” 

Great was the joy and relief of the campers 
when they saw John and Clark come out of the 
wood, bearing the deer between them, proudly 
escorted by Watch, who apparently believed that 
he had done it all himself. 

“For a mere boy, John, thou hast shown rare 
prowess,” said Nathaniel Warner. 

“ Thou mayst yet become like Nimrod, John, a 
mighty hunter unto the Lord,” said Mr. Tilton. 
“ Thy venison, boy, will make us a relishing break- 
fast, and be cheering to your good friends in 
Hadley.” 

“ Fill not the boy’s head with vain glory,” said 


THE JOURNEY’S END. 


45 


Goodman Ellis, himself perceptibly proud of John. 
66 It is God who hath mercifully preserved us and 
turned our mourning into gladness. Let us return 
thanks unto Him for His great mercies unto 
us ward.” 

All stood while the good man poured out his 
soul in a fervent prayer. Goodwife Ellis, still 
weak from terror, lifted up her heart in deep 
thankfulness that they had been spared the 
horrors which she had fancied about to befall 
them. Then all were glad to lie down again and 
sleep. 

John did not go back to his couch until he had 
helped the men and Wequogon skin and cut up 
the deer, hanging the haunches of venison high up 
in the trees, where it would keep cool and safe 
until morning. 

“ This skin will make thee a stout pair of 
breeches, John,” said Nathaniel Warner. “ I know 
not what we should do here in the wilderness but 
for deerskin.” 

“ Can I have the horns too ? ” asked John, pick- 
ing up the fine branching antlers. 

“ ’T is hardly worth thy while cumbering thyself 
to bear those away,” said Nathaniel. “ Deer are 
plentiful. Thou canst readily get all the antlers 
thou mayst fancy in the settlement.” 

“I can easily carry them,” said John, who had 
no idea of losing this trophy of his first deer. If 


46 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

only lie could show those antlers to some of the 
boys at home in England ! 

Wequogon was carefully drawing out and saving 
all the sinews of the deer. 

“ What doth Wequogon ? ” asked John. 

“ He will dry the sinews,” said Nathaniel, “ and 
use them for his bow strings, or mayhap for snow- 
shoes next winter. Thou knowest the woods are the 
Indians’ shop, where they chiefly find their wares.” 

After all his excitement and the loss of sleep, 
John did not waken early next morning. Although 
the rising sun, striking in low under the branches, 
shone full in his face, announcing the finest of 
June days, John slept heavily on until he was 
wakened by Nathan, who, having rested well, was 
up with the sun, bright and happy, ready for the 
day’s adventures. 

“ Wake up, sleepy head ! ” cried Nathan, bestrid- 
ing his brother’s prostrate body. “Wake up, or 
I will ride thee for my nag. Get up ! ” And 
Nathan jogged up and down, plying a switch he 
had pulled on John’s sides. 

John half opened his sleepy eyes. Then, sud- 
denly, he turned over, sending Nathan tumbling 
heels over head, luckily into a soft bed of moss 
and pine needles. 

“ This is a frisky nag, I promise thee,” said John, 
laughing, as Watch, seeing the fun, began to nose 
over Nathan, trying to play with him. 


THE JOURNEY’S END. 


47 


“ Thou wouldst not lie here snoring, John, an 
thou knew’st what I know,” said Nathan, as he 
picked himself up. “ There is famous news. 
Venison for breakfast ! Dost not smell it ? Hath 
it not a goodly odor ? Oh, I am so hungry for it ! ” 

“ Verily, it doth smell savory,” said John. 66 But 
who shot that deer while thou wast snoozing like 
a trooper ? ” 

“ Wequogon ? ” 

“ Nay. I shot it myself, with my trusty snap- 
hance.” 

“ Didst thou truly, John ? ” asked Nathan, as 
much impressed as John could desire. u I wish I 
were as big as thou. I mean to shoot deer, and 
bears and lions too, when I am a man.” 

“ Come and see the deer’s antlers. Was he not 
a huge fellow? ” said John. 

The venison, roasted on forked sticks over the 
fire, with berries gathered by the children while it 
was cooking, made a breakfast whose deliciousness 
can hardly be appreciated save by those who have 
lived chiefly on smoked fish and dry bread for a 
week. 

The travellers now set their faces hopefully to 
the westward, cheered by the thought that night 
would see the end of their journey. The air was 
clear and bright after the storm, the woods full of 
fragrance, and bird songs rippled joyfully from 
every tree. 


48 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 


“ What is that wondrous sweet odor that greet- 
eth my nostrils ? ” asked Good wife Ellis, sniffing 
and looking about. “ Doubtless some herb strange 
to me.” 

“ ’Tis the wild grape whose odor thou perceiv- 
est,” said Mr. Tilton. “ Its blossom giveth forth 
a most grateful smell. Seest thou not the 
vines festooning from tree to tree, through the 
forest ? ” 

The Ellises were much struck with this fresh 
proof of the richness of the new land into which 
they had come, and Goodman Ellis said, — 

“ Verily God hath mercifully directed His people 
into a land teeming with fatness.” 

“ Wait until thou seest Hadley, Goodman 
Ellis,” said Nathaniel Warner. 

“ Hadley hath a pleasant English sound in 
mine ears,” said Good wife Ellis. 

“ I trust, Experience, thou art not already long- 
ing for the flesh-pots of Egypt,” said her husband, 
who sometimes suspected that his wife’s heart 
failed her for homesickness. 

“ Nay, not so,” replied the goodwife. “ I am 
not one like Lot’s wife, to look back towards 
Sodom. But Hadley hath a home-like sound 
that make th it seem less strange. When I was 
a child, I journeyed once with my father to visit 
a kinsman in Hadleigh in Essex, and I remember 
the place well. Its wide meadow lieth low r on the 


THE JOURNEY’S END. 49 

broad Thames, not far from the sea, and it was a 
spot of green pastures and still waters.” 

“ Verily, ’ t is much like our Hadley, and hence 
doubtless had it its name,” said Mr. Tilton. 

“ I long to see Hadley,” said Prudence. “ Is it 
somewhat like London ? Shall we see the grand 
ladies riding about the streets in their sedan 
chairs, and the coaches with six horses, and foot- 
men, and outriders, such as we saw in London ?” 

“ I love best to see the trainbands,” said Nathan. 

“ Thou wilt see no glittering shows in Hadley,” 
said Mr. Tilton. “ Me are but a handful of God’s 
chosen people seeking to serve Him in the wilder- 
ness. But He hath set us in a large place, and it 
is not unlikely, if God prosper us, that the little one 
may become as a thousand, and Hadley become 
a great city like London, only more godly, we 
trust.” 

Somewhat after noon, as they jogged on, they 
came in sight of several young horses grazing in 
an open spot among the large trees. The colts, 
startled at their approach, lifted their heads, 
sniffed the air, and, catching but a glimpse of the 
travellers, galloped swiftly away into the woods, 
kicking up their heels and tossing their manes, as 
wild and free as deer. 

“Do wild horses abound in the forest?” asked 
Goodman Ellis, prepared to believe anything of 
this wonderful land. 


4 


50 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

“ Nay,” replied Mr. Tilton. “The colts belong 
to our Hadley planters. We are now in the east- 
ernmost precincts of Hadley, though we still have 
some distance to journey before we reach the 
plantation. These outlying woods, which have 
been burned over every autumn by the Indians to 
destroy the underbrush and make good hunting 
grounds, are our best pastures. Our hunters now 
follow the Indian custom. Thou hast doubtless 
noticed that the bark on many of the trees is 
scorched.” 

“ Doth not this injure the trees?” 

“But little. An it did, ’twere no matter. 
’T would save our felling them. All our horned 
cattle, horses not needed for use, and swine, pasture 
in the woods. They have a great range, and the 
pasture is free to all. The poor man’s beast and 
the rich man’s flocks share alike.” 

“ A blessing that pertaineth only to this goodly 
land,” said Goodman Ellis. “ But do not the creat- 
ures become wild ? And do not you lose many by 
wild beasts and Indians ? ” 

“ They are wild enough, and our young men 
and boys have hard work and some sport withal 
gathering them in ere winter corneth. They are 
all branded with the town mark. The Maquas, 
as thou knowest to thy sorrow, sometimes steal 
our cattle, but we oblige them to make restitution. 
Wolves are our greatest pest. They kill many 


THE JOURNEY’S END. 


51 


swine, sheep, and calves. And a bear now and 
then catcheth a cow or ox. But we must needs 
use these woods for a pasture for want of a 
better.’’ 

“ The settlement payeth a bounty for the de- 
struction of these pernicious beasts,” said Nathaniel 
Warner. “ An thou provest as sure a marks- 
man as thou didst last night, John, thou canst 
earn some good shillings that way. The towns- 
men pay twenty shillings for a wolf, and five 
shillings for a whelp, an thou bearest the heads 
to the constable.” 

John was well pleased at the possibilities open- 
ing up in his new home. It would be great sport 
to help hunt up and drive in the cattle next fall. 

“ An I mistake not, my good snaphance will 
bring me in many a shilling,” he thought, men- 
tally calculating how many wolves’ heads he 
should probably carry to the constable a month. 

He soon learned a new way of making money. 
Wequogon left the path, and going into the forest 
to what seemed a pile of brush, he bent over, 
pushing aside the brush, revealing a deep pit, in 
which some wild animal was heard snapping and 
snarling so furiously as greatly to frighten Pru- 
dence and Abigail. Even Nathan was well satisfied 
to be high up on his father’s horse, the creature 
seemed so ferocious, though it was plain he could 
not get out. 


52 


THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 


Wequogon speedily killed the wolf with the 
long stone knife he bore in his belt. Then cutting 
off its head, he strode on, carrying it by its ears. 
Great hawks, hovering overhead, hardly waited 
for the travellers to disappear, before they settled 
down on the bloody carcase. 

“ It seemeth Wequogon hath a wolf pit here,” 
said Mr. Tilton. 

“ Our hunters catch many wolves in pits,” said 
Nathaniel. 

“ Will the Hadley townsmen pay Wequogon 
twenty shillings for that head?” asked John. 

“ Yea. We care not who killeth the wolves, 
so that the vermin be rooted out,” said Warner. 
“ When thou canst not bring in the head, the 
townsmen pay the bounty for the ears only, pro- 
vided they be fresh, that they may be sure the 
wolves were killed within our precincts.” 

John felt more and more sure that he should 
enjoy life in the wilderness, but to Prudence, what 
with Indians and wild beasts, the new life seemed 
less attractive. 

They began to come more frequently on groups 
of cattle, horses, and swine scattered about, feed- 
ing in the woods. 

“ Praise be to God, we draw nigh the settlement 
at last,” said Mr. Tilton. 

“And we shall reach it before shutting in,” 
said Nathaniel, “ and so not be forced to break 


THE JOURNEY’S END. 53 

the laws of our colony by travelling on the Lord’s 
holy day.” 

u When we reach the height of this eminence, 
ye will catch your first glimpse of Hadley,” said 
Mr. Tilton. 

The tired travellers pressed on with new cour- 
age. On the top of the hill they drew rein, and 
gazed with delight on the scene before them, shad- 
ing their eyes from the afternoon sun, low in the 
west. 

Below them stretched a wide expanse of the Con- 
necticut Valley. Through fertile, green meadows 
wound at its own free will such a great river as 
the English people had never seen or imagined. 
Each side the valley the meadows swept up 
into hills covered with primeval forest, unbroken 
as yet by the axe or human habitation. To the 
south rose grandly a rugged mountain range 
wooded to the summit, and behind this range the 
river disappeared. Smoke curled up from that 
part of the meadow which was enclosed by a great 
bend in the river. 

“ What a noble, great river ! ” exclaimed Good- 
man Ellis. 

“ The savages call it the Quonetecutte, which 
meaneth ‘ the long river ’ in their heathenish 
tongue,” said Mr. Tilton, “ and we have adopted 
the name. Yonder smoke thou seest risetli from 
our plantation of Hadley.” 


54 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 


“ Methinks I see smoke also beyond the river, in 
two places,” said John. 

“ That to the northward riseth from the houses 
of our settlers on the west side the river, and that 
on the plain to the west cometh from our neighbor- 
ing settlement of Northampton,” said Mr. Tilton. 

Beautiful indeed looked the smiling valley to 
the eyes of the new-comers. Even Prudence took 
fresh heart, and began to feel that life in the 
wilderness might have some attractions, especially 
as Nathaniel Warner said to her, — 

“ The young maids of thy age, Prudence, long 
greatly for thy coming. There are a round dozen 
of them ; thy cousin Hannah Smith, and Mary 
Wells and Mehitable Porter, and my sister Pris- 
cilla, and others, — merry maids all.” 

So there really were playmates even in the 
wilderness ! 

Prudence’s spirits were further raised by John, 
who, looking on the grand sweep of the Con- 
necticut with delight, said, — 

“ I will oft take thee rowing on that broad 
river, Prudence. Nathaniel saith the youths here 
fashion themselves goodly canoes from logs. And 
I will teach thee to swim in it, Nathan.” 

“ I want to help paddle the canoe,” said 
Nathan. 

Goodwife Ellis, her heart full of thankfulness, 
exclaimed, — 


THE JOURNEY’S END. 55 

“Verily, the lines have fallen unto us in pleas- 
ant places ! ” 

“ Yea, praise be to God, we have a goodly 
heritage,” said her husband. 

“ Thou hast well said, Goodman Ellis,” said 
Mr. Tilton. “ This meadow land teemeth with 
richness. An God mercifully spare us from de- 
struction by the savages, we look for a prosperous 
outcome to our venture here, begun for conscience’ 
sake.” 

In the best of spirits the travellers now pressed 
on. Passing Spruce Hill they forded Fort River, 
— so called, Nathaniel told John, from an old 
Indian fort crowning the bluff near by, — and 
before the sun had sunk behind the undulating 
western hills, they reached a long extent of rail 
fence, running along the top of a high bank of 
earth which had been thrown out from the 
broad ditch that protected the outer side of the 
fence. 

Matthew Clark dismounted, and opened the gate 
which barred their way. 

“ This ditch mindeth me of the moats around 
our castles in Old England, like that at Warwick,” 
said Goodman Ellis. “ Is it for defence against 
the savage foe ? ” 

“ Nay,” said Nathaniel, “ ’t is built to fend the 
crops on our meadows from our own creatures that 
run in the woods. Late in the fall, when the 


56 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

crops are all garnered, the cattle are turned in 
here to graze.’ ’ 

“ John,” said Mr. Tilton, “ I must warn thee 
to be ever mindful to close the meadow gates. 
Shouldst thou leave one open, as some of our care- 
less youth have done, thou wilt e’en be fined two 
shillings and sixpence.” 

“ I will have a care, worshipful Mr. Tilton,” said 
John, resolved not to lose in this way any of the 
precious wolf shillings which he already felt jin- 
gling in his pocket. 

The edge of the sun was beginning to disappear 
behind the mountains when the little cavalcade 
rode into Hadley’s wide street, thus barely escaping 
the violation of the Sabbath, which began to be 
observed in full rigor with the setting of Saturday’s 
sun. 

“ Thanks to God’s mercy, here we are safely at 
home,” said Mr. Tilton. “ Welcome to Hadley, 
friends ! ” 

The Ellises gazed with greatest interest at the 
strange surroundings where the rest of their lives 
must be passed, realizing that many new experi- 
ences no doubt awaited them here. 

They looked up and down the street, a mile long, 
and twenty rods wide, so broad indeed that the 
small, unpainted houses scattered along each side 
looked like two separate villages. A path was 
worn in the grass before each row of houses, and 


THE JOURNEY’S END. 


57 


between the paths stretched an expanse of grass- 
land, broken with ridges and hollows, in some of 
which large ponds of water reflected the brightness 
of the western sky. There were few trees, the 
settlers having cut down most of those left stand- 
ing by the Indians on this, their old cornfield of 
Norwottuck. 

On one of the highest ridges in the middle of 
the street towards the north end, stood a new 
building, whose square roof, rising to a point in 
the centre and bearing a small turret, told the 
Ellises that this was the meeting house. 

“ Verily it gladdeneth my eyes to behold so 
goodly a house of God already erected here in the 
wilderness,” said Goodman Ellis. “It hath a 
sightly situation.” 

“ It was placed to the north the better to accom- 
modate our people who dwell on the west side of 
the river,” said Mr. Tilton. “ But here is the 
house of our godly minister, Mr. Russell, and here 
I must say good even, friends, as I bring him 
weighty letters from England.” 

The arrival of a party of travellers from the Bay 
in Hadley street produced as much excitement as 
the stately Puritans felt it dignified to manifest. 
Especially was the return of the post, Nathaniel 
Warner, their only link with the outside world, 
full of interest. 

Women stood in their open doors, shading their 


58 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

eyes from the long slanting rays of the setting sun, 
looking with interest at the new-comers, who were 
well known to be a godly family fresh from Old 
England, the land which, in spite of the persecu- 
tions which had driven them forth, was still 
“home” to so many. Grave men in steeple 
crowned hats and broad white collars bent their 
footsteps across the green to accost Nathaniel, and 
learn if perchance he had brought them letters 
from the Bay or England, or various articles or- 
dered by them from thence. 

“ I too must leave ye here,” said Nathaniel. 
“ It behooveth me to hasten to my father’s house, 
and distribute what packages I may ere it be too 
late. Matthew Clark, who is quartered at the 
house of thy kinsman, Lieutenant Samuel Smith, 
will escort thee thither.” 

The other soldiers scattered to the houses where 
they were quartered. Matthew Clark conducted 
the Ellises up the street past the meeting house, to 
the house of Lieutenant Smith, one of the largest 
in the settlement. 

Wequogon bent his way to the north end of the 
street, where, from under some bushes on the 
river’s brink, he drew a birchbark canoe. Step- 
ping in, he shot swiftly away across the broad 
river, his paddles breaking the picture of the sun- 
set sky imaged in its clear waters into a thousand 
glimmering, dancing fragments of brightness. 


CHAPTER V. 


A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 

L ieutenant smith’s wife, Elizabeth, was 

aunt to Goodman Ellis. Almost with tears 
of joy did the good old lady and her venerable 
husband welcome these kinsfolk, who, for con- 
science’ sake, had crossed the wide ocean to cast 
in their lot with the people of Hadley. 

“ It gladdeneth and comforteth my .heart to be 
permitted to look upon the face of my sister’s son, 
Reuben,” she said. “ And thy wife, and these little 
ones, growing up like olive branches around thy 
table, are most welcome. I knew not when 
thou wouldst arrive. But Mercy hath a huge 
pot of bean porridge boiling over the fire, and 
shortly thou shalt have supper, and then to bed, 
for ye must be sore weary after your toilsome 
journey.” 

“ Yea,” said Goodwife Ellis. “And to-morrow 
we must be up early, for ’t is the Lord’s day, and 
gladly will we go up to His house to return thanks 
for His unmerited mercies in bringing us in safety 
to our journey’s end.” 


60 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

“I have attended to thy commission, Reuben," 
said Lieutenant Smith. “ The son of John Hawks 
hath removed to Pocumtuck, — a new settlement 
just beginning to be upbuilt in the wilderness some 
dozen miles or more to the northward. Thus I 
was enabled to purchase thee a home near our own, 
across the street. Our authorities readily con- 
sented to thy admission among us.” 

“ But ye will abide with us over the Sabbath,” 
said his wife. 

“ Hast thou room for so many, good aunt?” 
asked Goodwife Ellis. 

“ We are two old folk, living alone, save for our 
handmaiden, Mercy Jackson, and the soldier. Our 
children are all married and settled about us, save 
Samuel, who hath gone to the Virginia plantation. 
Philip liveth next door, and Chileab across the 
street. The Lord hath bountifully blessed them 
with children. And they are all eager to see their 
new cousins from England,” said the old lady, 
smiling kindly at Prudence. 

Hardly was supper over, when the outer door 
opened, and Lieutenant Smith exclaimed, — 

“ Here comes Philip’s oldest son now. Good 
even, Samuel. Pray, how happeneth it that thou 
cornest out after shutting in on the eve of the 
Sabbath ? ” 

66 Good even, grandam, and grandsire,” said 
Samuel, a sturdy boy of about John’s age, with 


A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 


61 


cropped hair, wearing a broad collar, a woollen 
doublet, and knee breeches. He looked eagerly at his 
English cousins, who returned his gaze in like fashion. 

“ Father heard of the arrival of our English 
cousins, and hath permitted me to come and ask 
Cousin John to rest at our house over the Sabbath. 
Mother saith thou mayst be overcrowded with so 
many. And Cousin Hannah desireth Prudence to 
sleep with her. Uncle Chileab said I was to bring 
Prudence to his house.” 

John was entirely ready to go with his new cous- 
in, but Prudence shrank shyly from meeting all 
these strange relations, and hung back, murmuring, 

“ I would gladly stay with thee to-night, mother.” 

“ Go with thy cousin, child,” said her mother. 
“ Thou canst return here to-morrow, if thou 
wishest, and Monday we will move into our new 
home.” 

“ Chileab’s Hannah is a good girl, e’en though 
somewhat light-minded at times, after the fashion 
of young maids. She is nigh thy age, Prudence, 
and a desirable companion for thee,” said Aunt 
Elizabeth. 

“ Take thy night rail with thee, Pruda,” said 
her mother. 

Samuel and John escorted Prudence across the 
wide street to her Uncle Chileab’s. The children 
chatted as they went, getting acquainted fast, 
as is the wont of young folks. So absorbed were 


62 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

they, that they did not notice a man of grave and 
reverend presence, until he stopped them, saying 
severely to Sam, — 

“ I like not this idle gadding and gossiping of 
young folk on the king’s highway on the eve of 
the Sabbath. What meaneth this light conduct, 
Samuel Smith ; above all, in the grandson of that 
ancient, godly man, Lieutenant Smith, ever a bright 
and shining candle unto the Lord ? ” 

The speaker was Richard Goodman, who, as one 
of the deacons, had special oversight of the morals 
of the community. 

Sam hastened, with all the respect due a man of 
such importance, to explain the cause of his un- 
usual violation of the Puritan ordinance. 

“ As thy kinsman’s late arrival seemeth to fur- 
nish some excuse for thee, thy offence will be 
winked at this time,” said Deacon Goodman. “ But 
go thy way speedily and quietly, with no vain 
conversation or idle laughter unbecoming the day.” 

Thus admonished, the children hastened silently 
on. Once more were they stopped, this time by 
John Barnard, the watchman that night for the 
north end of the street, whom thev met as he 
paced to and fro, gun at his shoulder, and to 
whom also Samuel w T as forced to explain his pres- 
ence on the street after sundown. 

As they hurried on, Prudence, looking up at 
the western sky, where a faint hint of the dying 


A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 


63 


daylight still lingered, saw the tiny sickle of the 
new moon hanging low over the hills. 

66 See, John,” she whispered, pulling his arm, 
u yonder is the new moon, the same moon we 
used to see at home.” 

“ Of course, silly one,” replied John, in a sub- 
dued tone. “ Why not ? ” 

“ It seemeth friendly and natural to see it in 
this strange land,’’ said Prudence. “ And, John,” 
she whispered softly, lest her strange cousin hear, 
“ I saw it over my right shoulder, too.” 

“ Thou ’d best not let father hear thee say 
that,” said John. 

Nevertheless, Prudence felt comforted by the 
old, old English superstition, handed down perhaps 
from old pagan times through long generations of 
forefathers, and was enabled to encounter the 
flock of cousins at Uncle Chileab’s with better 
courage for this good omen. 

Here she met Uncle Chileab and Aunt Hannah, 
their daughter Hannah, their sons, Luke, Ebenezer, 
and Pelatiah, and finally baby Hester. Hannah 
was a bright-looking girl somewhat older than 
Prudence, whose sparkling brown eyes regarded her 
shy, blue-eyed English cousin with so friendly a 
glance that Prudence felt drawn to her at once. 

“ We will have our Scripture reading presently,” 
said Aunt Hannah, after her kindly greeting, 
“ and then ’t is best, Hannah, that thou take thy 


64 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

cousin to bed. She must be sore weary after her 
tiresome journey. Do not keep her awake with 
thy foolish chatter. Remember ’t is the eve of 
the Sabbath.” 

61 1 will not forget, mother,” said Hannah. 

“ I wish John could rest here too,” said Luke. 

But Sam bore away the coveted big boy cousin, 
and Luke had to be content with his new girl 
cousin. After Scripture reading and singing a 
psalm, during which tired Prudence nodded with 
irrepressible sleepiness, though she tried hard to 
sit up straight on her block and keep her eyes 
open, Hannah lit a splinter of candle wood, and 
led her cousin up stairs, into a homely little bed- 
room under the sloping roof, where she stuck the 
splinter into a chink in the wall. The girls hur- 
ried to undress before it burned out. 

“ Thou art too sleepy to talk to-night, I see 
plainly,” said Hannah. “ Moreover, I promised 
mv mother not to talk. But in the morning I 
shall have much to hear and tell thee too. I am 
glad thou hast come.” 

The straw tick was as a bed of down to Pru- 
dence after sleeping on pine brush in the forest, 
and she felt delightfully safe and protected to be 
under a roof again, and in a village. She slept so 
hard and fast that it was morning almost at once, 
it seemed. 

The sun was reddening the eastern sky, when 


A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 65 

she woke, Hannah, already up and dressed, was 
standing looking at her. 

“ Verily, I believe I waked thee merely with 
looking at thee, and longing to have thee open 
thine eyes, Prudence,” said her cousin, “ for I have 
tip-toed about in my slip shoes as still as a mouse. 
Art rested ? ” 

“ Yea, cousin Hannah,” said Prudence. “ I 
rested sweeter in thy good bed than since we left 
the Bay.” 

“ That blue stuff maketh thee a gown vastly 
becoming to thy color,” said Hannah, as Prudence 
put on her gown of sober, dark blue. “ I would 
my mother would suffer me to wear somewhat 
besides these sad-colored stuffs. I like them not.” 

“ Dost thou too love bright colors?” asked 
Prudence, speaking low, as of something wrong. 

“ Verily I do, Prudence. Sometimes I really 
crave them, as I do food when I am hungry.” 

“ I see not why ’t is so wicked to desire them,” 
said Prudence, “ though I know ’t is, for the older 
folk all say so. But God hath given the blossoms 
and little fowls brave colors that gladden the 
eye.” 

“ I am warned oft enough by my mother and 
grandam that it is my sinful heart that maketh 
me cherish such vain desires,” said Hannah. 
“ Doubtless ’t is so, for I cannot help it. To-mor- 
row, on a week day, I will show thee something 


66 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 


most pleasing. But now we must hasten down 
to the wash bench.” 

Hannah took Prudence out the back door, 
where near the well stood a bench holding a pewter 
basin, and a wooden piggin filled with home-made 
soft soap. Here they made their morning toilets, 
wiping on a roller towel of coarse dowlas behind 
the kitchen door. 

The boys had been wide awake and up a long 
time, waiting to see their new cousin, and the 
younger tw r o, Ebenezer and Pelatiah, were both 
determined to lead her to the breakfast table. 

“ Go away, Pelatiah. Thou art too little to 
care for our cousin,” said Ebenezer, the older. 

“ She is as much my cousin as thine, Ebenezer 
Smith,” said Pelatiah, seizing Prudence’s other 
hand. “ I can lead her as well as thou.” 

“ Hush, boys,” said their father. “ Let me hear 
no unseemly contentions on the Sabbath morn. 
Come quietly and decently to prayers before 
meat.” 

The boys, noticing that their father was absorbed 
in making his Scripture selections, quietly per- 
sisted in their own way, without making much 
demonstration, each holding tightly the hand he 
had grasped until they had reached the table. 
Hannah looked across at Prudence with so merry 
a twinkle of the eye that Prudence would have 
smiled had she dared. 


A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 


67 


All stood, while the father made a longer prayer 
than usual because it was the Sabbath. Then 
they were allowed to eat. 

The children each had a pewter porringer filled 
with hot porridge. In the centre of the table was 
a large wooden trencher full of fried fish, to 
which whoso wished helped himself with his fin- 
gers, eating with it a piece of rye and Indian 
bread, without butter. 

Luke longed to tell Prudence that he and Sam 
caught these fish in the river yesterday. But 
talking by children at meals was not allowed, so 
they ate in silence. But when they stood for 
return thanks after breakfast, Pelatiah, who had 
merry brown eyes like Hannah’s, emboldened by 
his father’s closed eves, threw a crust of bread 
across at Prudence, and laughed. 

At this daring act, the children looked at him 
an instant in horror at such an enormitv, and 
then dropped their heads. When Goodman Smith 
rather hastily concluded his prayer, Pelatiah had 
disappeared under the table on all fours. 

“ Come forth, my son,” said his father, not so 
much in anger as in sorrow. “ Thy carriage 
mindest me of that of Adam when he hid himself 
in the garden from the just wrath of God, after 
he had tasted the forbidden fruit. Come forth, 
I say A 

Pelatiah came forth, and was quietly led into 


68 the YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

an adjoining room. The sound of loud wailing 
that soon arose there showed that his father was 
being faithful to him. 

The breakfast dishes having been set aside, 
to be washed after sundown, Goodwife Smith 
gathered the children about her, and instructed 
them in the catechism. Having passed an hour 
in this way, she said, — 

u Go now and make ready for the assembling 
of ourselves together. I judge ’t is nearly time for 
meeting, by the shadow of the noon mark on the 
window sill.” 

Meeting began at nine o’clock in the morning. 

o o o 

Hannah and Prudence went up stairs to make 
ready, chiefly by tying on the close linen caps 
which in summer took the place of their hoods. 
Hannah, cautiously closing her bedroom door, 
whispered, — 

“ An I mistake not, Prudence, we shall see a 
brave show at meeting to-day.” 

“ A brave show, — at meeting ! ” exclaimed 
Prudence. 

“Yea, even as I tell thee. Young Mistress 
Hepzibah Wells hath come here of late from 
Windsor in the Connecticut colony, as the bride 
of young Thomas Wells, and her gay apparel 
hath caused no little scandal. She hath been 
visited and admonished during the past week by 
the deacons, but ’t is said she hardeneth her heart 


A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 


69 


against all warnings. But oh, Prudence,” said 
Hannah, in a guilty whisper, “ her damask silk was 
stiff enough to stand alone, and the colors on it 
were most fair to see ! Over a pale blue ground 
were sprinkled pink roses. Nought like it hath 
e’er been seen in Hadley meeting house. And her 
silk hood had a pink lining ! I did love to look 
upon her, and I noticed many of our young men 
and maidens cast their eyes her way.” 

“ I wish I too might see her bravery,” said 
Prudence, “ although I doubt not it may be sinful 
in me. She must look like the grand court ladies 
in London.” 

“ Do tell me about them, Prudence, I beg,” said 
Hannah ; “ what they wore, and how ’t was cut 
and trimmed. Do they truly wear patches on 
their faces?” 

The sound of a bell ringing made both girls 
start. 

“’Tis the sign for meeting. We must hasten 
down,” said Hannah. 

The family walked forth in a grave procession. 
Across the green centre of the street came all the 
inhabitants of the settlement towards the meeting 
house in similar staid processions, the father and 
mother leading, the father, if he happened to be 
one of the guard for the day, bearing his gun. 
The infants were borne in arms, the younger 
children led, while the older children, and the 


70 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

servants, if there happened to be such, walked 
soberly, two and two, behind. 

There was no idle talk, no smiles. Grave nods 
of recognition were exchanged as friends and 
neighbors met along the way. 

It had been thought best that John Ellis should 
return to Lieutenant Smith’s for the Sabbath, 
lest he and his cousin Philip’s sons, of whom 
there was a houseful, might be tempted to light 
conversation unbecoming the day. As the fam- 
ily were leaving the house, Lieutenant Smith 
said, — 

“ The infirmities of age are upon me. I have 
forgotten my staff. John, wilt thou return for 
it ? We shall walk so slowly that thy young legs 
will readily overtake us without unseemly haste. 
’T is a stout oaken staff, and thou wilt find it 
behind the kitchen door, an I mistake not.” 

John turned back to get the staff. The front 
door was unfastened, it not being the custom to 
fasten the outer door of houses. Evil doers were 
not tolerated in the community, but were either 
hauled up before the magistrate and clapped in 
Springfield jail, or warned out of town. Every 
person able, as the saying was, “ to go from the 
bed to the chair” was expected to attend meeting. 

John entered the quiet, deserted house. Not 
finding the staff where the forgetful old man had 
said, he thought, — 


















































J ohn 


stopped 


in dismay, 
startled as 


The stranger 
John.” 


seemed 


as 


A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 


71 


“ Perchance lie left it upstairs in his chamber. 
I will look there.” 

At the top of the dark, narrow stairway, John 
was greatly startled by suddenly encountering 
a strange man, an old man of venerable and digni- 
fied aspect, whom he had never seen before. Who 
could this be in the deserted house ? 

John stopped in dismay. The stranger seemed 
as startled as John. 

“ Boy, whoever thou art, I solemnly charge 
thee, speak to none of having seen me,” he said 
impressively, and then disappeared into a back 
room, closing the door. 

John found the staff, and hurried downstairs, 
with frequent glances back over his shoulder at 
the door where the man had disappeared. He 
could not think the mysterious stranger a rogue 
of any sort, for his venerable, reverend appearance 
forbade that idea. 

Could it be the devil ? John well knew that it 
was Satan’s habit to assume many disguises, even 
the most venerated, for his wicked ends. Yet 
why should the devil haunt the house of the godly 
Lieutenant Smith above all others ? 


CHAPTER VI. 


A PURITAN SABBATH. 



HE June sunshine streamed down with quiet 


brightness, a few fleecy clouds, floating over, 
sent shadows drifting gently across the grassy 
street, the bell was tolling, and a Sabbath peace 
seemed to fill the air, a strange contrast to the 
whirl of dark thoughts in John’s mind as he 
hastened on, past the stocks and whipping post, 
to the meeting house door. 

There he found most of the congregation assem- 
bled, waiting for their revered minister, Mr. John 
Russell, whom John now saw, clad in a long 
Genevan cloak and a black velvet cap, walking 
slowly and with dignity up the street, his wife 
upon his arm, his aged parents following, and 
his sons bringing up the rear, exchanging grave 
salutations with his people, who waited respect- 
fully until the minister and family had entered 
the building, and then soberly followed. 

His cousin Sam had met John, and now whis- 
pered, — 

66 Thou art to sit with me and the other boys on 
the pulpit steps. We all sit there.” 


A PURITAN SABBATH. 


73 


As they were about going in, to John’s surprise 
he saw two young men sitting on the fence that 
ran along the river bank at the north end of the 
street, beyond the meeting house. They wore a 
defiant look, which seemed to say, “ We care not 
who sees us,” and were talking and laughing 
together. 

“ Who are those, who dare to stay away from 
meeting?” asked John, in surprise. 

“ ’T is Joseph Selden and Edward Grannis, 
two bold young sprouts,” replied Sam, in a 
whisper. “ They will be hauled up before the 
magistrate to-morrow, thou wilt see, an they 
refuse to take their assigned seats in the meeting 
house.” 

John saw Mr. Tilton regard the daring rebels 
with a dark frown, and heard the words “ sons 
of Belial,” as he despatched Obadiah Dickinson 
to order them into the house of God. 

But it would not answer for Sam and John to 
loiter on the steps to see the outcome of the 
affair. They hastened in, lest they too fall under 
condemnation. 

Entering the men’s door, they took their seats 
with the flock of boys crowding the pulpit stairs. 
The pulpit was a small, box-like structure, placed 
high, with a long flight of steps ascending to its 
heights on either side, so that here and on the 
steps of the deacons’ seat, below the pulpit, there 


74 THE YOUNG PURITANS OP OLD HADLEY. 

was room for the boys who so abounded in the old 
Puritan families. But they had to sit close, and 
the uncomfortable seats were some excuse for the 
wriggling restlessness apt to set in before the end 
of the long service. 

There was good reason for the town vote, in 
1672, “ that there shall be some sticks set up in 
the meeting house in several places, with some fit 
persons placed to them, and to use them as occa- 
sion shall require, to keep the youth in order.” 

Sam nudged John and looked significantly 
towards two of these same sticks standing in the 
corner near them. John noticed that Obadiah 
Dickinson, who had been despatched for the “ sons 
of Belial ” perched on the fence, returned without 
them, and took his place by the sticks. He was 
a tall, strong young man of severe aspect, who 
looked quite capable of using the sticks without 
flinching if he saw good cause. 

John looked about with great interest on the 
people below, his new neighbors and townfolk. 
The congregation were seated on hard wooden 
benches, backless and cushionless. The venerated 
Madam Dorothy Bussell, the minister’s mother, in 
the fore seat on the women’s side, was privileged 
to bring a cushion to sit upon, as were a few 
others whose age or infirmity made this luxury 
pardonable. 

The rows of benches were divided by an aisle in 


A PURITAN SABBATH. 


75 


the middle. The men and boys occupied the 
benches on the minister’s right, the women and 
girls those on his left. Each side had its own 
door. 

Before the pulpit, on a seat raised two steps, 
facing the congregation, sat Deacon Peter Tilton 
and Deacon Richard Goodman, looking impres- 
sively down upon the people. Like Mr. Russell, 
they wore black velvet caps, as did others of the 
old men. 

John saw Prudence and Hannah sitting de- 
murely on the bench beside their mothers. Abigail 
and Nathan sat on a little bench or long cricket in 
front of their mother. On the other end of the 
same bench sat Pelatiah, looking wistfully now and 
then at his attractive new cousins, longing to make 
advances towards an acquaintance. But his re- 
cent chastisement was still too fresh not to linger 
even in his short memory, and repress his activity 
for a while. 

Although Hannah and Prudence seemed to be 
sitting sedately as young Puritan maidens should, 
it is to be feared their minds wandered to worldly 
thoughts. Hardly were they well seated, when 
a cautious pressure of Hannah’s elbow directed 
Prudence’s attention to a young woman passing 
up the aisle whom she knew at once must be 
Mistress Hepzibah Wells. 

Mistress Hepzibah was not over nineteen, a 


76 the YOUNG PURITANS OP OLD HADLEY. 

pretty young woman, pleasing to look upon in her 
wedding finery of silk and lace, and silken hood 
lined with pink, her gay attire the more noticeable 
for the plain, sad-colored dresses around her. Her 
cheeks were flushed, and her air slightly defiant, 
as if she were fully conscious that many sternly 
disapproving eyes were fastened on her. 

Prudence saw two or three other young women 
whose attire was gayer than Puritan custom 
sanctioned. One Mistress Westcarr even had 
short sleeves to her flowered lutestring gown, 
reaching only half down the arm. Long, 
open-work gloves met the sleeves, and the arm 
where they ended was still further shielded by 
lace, fine bone lace, worth at least three or four 
shillings a yard, as most of the women in 
the meeting house took notice. And Mistress 
Grannis not only wore a silk gown and petticoat 
trimmed with fringe, but also an immoderate 
great ruff. 

The young women were not alone in their trans- 
gression. Several of the young men wore their 
hair long and curling, waving in luxurious defiance 
of the Puritan laws against long hair, and were 
also guilty of wide breeches. One young fellow, 
Jonathan Wells, added to these enormities a touch 
of gold lace that lent him a dashing look not lost 
on young Mistress Hepzibah Colton of Springfield, 
who was visiting his sister Sarah. In short, it 


A PURITAN SABBATH. 77 

was plain that human nature was cropping out, at 
least in the younger of the Hadley Puritans. 

The tine feathers of these tine birds distracted 
the attention of Hannah and Prudence not a little 
during the service, but were a wonderful help in 
carrying them through the long sermon. 

As Mr. Russell was opening the service, to John’s 
dismay he saw his dog Watch come up the outer 
steps, and, standing in the open door, look about, 
wagging his tail affably, evidently seeking his 
master. Poor Watch felt lonely in this strange 
place, with his friends scattered about, he knew not 
where, and he had determined in his wise dog mind 
to go out and seek them. Naturally he had fol- 
lowed the whole settlement to the meeting house. 

Sam, who also saw the dog, nudged John, adding 
to his nervousness. He only hoped Watch would 
not spy him, in his exalted seat on the pulpit steps. 
Evidently Watch did not, for presently he slunk 
under the rear bench, and composed himself for a 
good snooze, satisfied with the sense of human 
companionship, and John breathed easier. 

Deacon Goodman now set the tune, “ York,” 
and began to line out the sixteenth psalm. The 
congregation stood, and sang line after line with 
fervor as the deacon read them out. But, there 
being no instrument to guide their voices, and it 
being a religious duty for all to sing, — the deaf, 
the old, the children, those with no voice and no 


78 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

ear, — there was more noise and fervor than mel- 
ody, and by and by it fell out, that part of the 
congregation were still singing Cm York,” while part 
had swung off into “ St. Dowds.” 

Little did Goodman Ellis and his wife note the 
lack of harmony. Filled with joy at being privi- 
leged to worship once more in a company of the 
faithful, and with sincere gratitude for the safe 
ending of their journey, gladly did they uplift their 
hearts to God in love and praise. 

But there was one listener in whose ears the dis- 
cord was unbearable. Hardly had the congregation 
let itself out on the second verse of the psalm, — 

“ They shall heape sorrows on their heads, 
which run ne as they were mad ; 

To offer to the I doll Gods, 

Alas, it is too bad. 

As for the bloody sacrifice, 
and offerings of that sort ; 

I will not touch nor yet thereof 
my lips shall make report ” — 

when a painful, prolonged howl broke in from 
Watch, who, waking from his nap, had sat up 
with uplifted, distressed ears, and finally, unable 
longer to suppress Iris feelings, had thrown back 
his head and given loud vent to his protest. 

John blushed violently, as if every one must 
know that the hound was his. Then he saw a 
man, armed with a long whip, step swiftly in the 


A PURITAN SABBATH. 


79 


direction of Watch, and knew him to be the dog- 
whipper, appointed by the town to prevent such 
interruptions of the service. A loud yelp told that 
he had done his duty. Poor Watch scurried out 
the door. John found him, when service was 
over, patiently lying in the shade of the stocks, 
waiting for him. 

The interruption attracted little notice except 
from some of the younger children, who welcomed 
any diversion, and who were gently rapped on the 
head by their vigilant mothers, to remind them 
that it was not seemty to look about in meeting. 

The congregation again stood, while Mr. Russell 
prayed for an hour. No one felt this a hardship. 
Short prayers were despised by the Puritans as 
savoring of Episcopacy. Indeed, Mr. Russell was 
especially esteemed for his gift of continuance. 
Midway in the prayer, a few aged and infirm per- 
sons, who had received special concessions for their 
feebleness from the deacons, sat down. The rest 
stood till the end, though not without some uneasy 
scuffling of children’s feet on the sanded floor. 

Then came the sermon. The sands of the brass- 
bound hour-glass standing on the desk beside Mr. 
Russell measured an hour and a half ere it was 
finished, and those tired of standing during the 
prayer certainly had a chance to rest. 

As the sermon went on and on, with thoughts 
and language impossible for young minds to com- 


80 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

prebend, John’s mind reverted to the mysterious 
stranger he had encountered in Lieutenant Smith’s 
house. A new and comforting thought occurred 
to him. Possibly it was not the devil. It might 
be some guest who had arrived late Saturday 
night, after John had gone to his cousin’s. Yet, 
if so, why was he not at meeting ? 

As John puzzled his brain with these conjectures, 
he unconsciously leaned back against the knees of 
the boy who sat on the step behind him. 

John had been conscious that this boy was a 
restless spirit, as his constant wriggling about had 
been most uncomfortable. Now he dug bis toes 
maliciously into John, and kept on repeating the 
offence, though John, apparently accidentally, 
dug his elbow back forcibly into his enemy’s legs, 
as a gentle hint to let him alone. 

“ An it were not in meeting, he should see 
what he would get,” thought John, coloring with 
anger, as a sharper dig than ever from his neigh- 
bor’s hob-nailed shoes nearly pushed him off the 
narrow seat. 

The boy now dropped a wet wad of paper 
down John’s back, at which another boy laughed, 
audibly, too. 

John’s heart stood still as Obadiah Dickinson 
gave the boy who had laughed a sound rap with 
one of the long sticks, a rap that made him feel 
less mirthful, and, grasping the chief offender by 


A PURITAN SABBATH. 


81 


the doublet collar, hauled him down with a clatter, 
and marching with him over to the women’s side, 
sat him down with emphasis beside Goody Web- 
ster. The shame-faced culprit looked as if he 
would rather be under the bench than on it. 

The parents of the boys, who were present, 
made no attempt to interfere with this discipline 
of their sons ; indeed, they would undoubtedly fol- 
low it with further chastisement at home, as the 
sons knew to their sorrow’. 

The incident made no break in the sermon, 
which went steadily on to “ fourteenthly ” before 
“ finally ” was at last reached. Now and then 
the sturdy cry of some infant arose. If the mother 
could not hush it, she took it out doors, returning 
when it was quieted. 

The June sun glared in at the curtainless, shut- 
terless windows, which were closed fast. The new 
pine boards of ceiling, walls, floor, and benches 
gave forth a strong odor in the heat, which, com- 
bined with the dnwvsy buzzing of the flies, sent 
Nathan and Abigail off fast asleep early in the 
sermon, their heads resting peacefully against their 
mother’s knee. 

Pelatiah, observing his own mother’s absorption 
in the sermon, by degrees ventured to slide cau- 
tiously along the bench towards the other end. 
When within reach of Nathan, he slyly gave his 
hand a smart pinch. 


6 


82 the YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

Nathan, not knowing where he was, jumped, and 
cried out, — 

“ Something stingeth me, mother ! ” 

Pushing against sleeping Abigail as he jumped, 
he crowded her off the end of the bench, sliding 
after her himself. The bench tipped up, sending 
Pelatiah off too, coming down with a thump that 
resounded through the quiet meeting house. 

Goodwife Ellis stilled as soon as possible the 
crying Abigail, so rudely wakened from her happy 
dreams, while Goodwife Smith, with a red face, 
gave Pelatiah a most unsanctified shake, and re- 
seated him forcibly on the righted bench. Nathan 
looked askance at his lively new cousin, not at 
all certain that he liked him. 

After the sermon, Mr. Russell announced that 
“ by divine permission, this congregation will 
attend Thursday lecture at Northampton this 
week.” He then added, — 

“ Waitstill Jennings desireth to make public 
confession of his sin before the people of God.” 

A solemn hush fell over the assemblv. A voung; 
man, with downcast eyes, shame-faced, yet with 
an expression of sincere contrition, came down the 
aisle to the deacons’ seat, faced the congregation, 
and said, — 

“ I do confess that, being left of God in my 
sins, and being prevailed with by Satan, I have 
at sundry times and seasons reviled our worship- 


A PURITAN SABBATH. 


83 


ful magistrates, and, being admonished and cor- 
rected, did harden myself and make use of profane 
speech. I. acknowledge my offence, and ask the 
prayers of God’s people that the Lord in His mercy 
will pardon my transgressions, and aid me to 
mend my ways.” 

This confession, prompted by a sincere desire on 
Jennings’ part to regain favor with God, and re- 
trieve his good name and standing in the commu- 
nity, was heard in the solemn silence of those 
who feel that a human soul is laid bare before 
them. 

Another psalm was sung. Then the congrega- 
tion dispersed for a short half hour’s nooning, eat- 
ing a dry luncheon of bread and cheese, simply 
enough to sustain the flagging body through the 
afternoon’s service. Some of the people who had 
come from the south end of the street, brought 
their luncheon with them, and ate it at the houses 
of the brethren who dwelt nearer the church. 

Deacon Goodman and wife, and some of the 
Dickinsons, tarried during the nooning at Lieuten- 
ant Smith’s, where the time was spent in singing 
psalms and discussing the sermon. But among 
these strange faces, John failed to find that of the 
mysterious stranger, whose venerable countenance 
had impressed him too deeply to be easily forgotten. 

During the nooning, Lieutenant Smith took 
occasion to say to Deacon Goodman, — 


84 the YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

“ I doubt, Brother Goodman, whether it be not 
expedient to appoint a day of fasting and humilia- 
tion soon, to perchance avert the wrath of God 
against this settlement. His hand seemeth much 
against us of late in the sad face of things in re- 
gard to the rising generation. Didst see the flaunt- 
ing dress of Mistress Wells and the others, and the 
wanton locks of sundry of our youth ?” 

“ This generation are hardening their necks 
against the truth,” said Deacon Goodman. “We 
must carry things against these practices with a 
high hand. And Joseph Selden and Edward 
Grannis were not in their assigned seats in the 
meeting house, but, Mr. Tilton telleth me, strutting 
proudly about, sitting on fences, smiling, and other- 
wise breaking the Sabbath.” 

“ This neglect of God’s word and ordinances, and 
all these sinful practices must be put down,” said 
Lieutenant Smith. “ T is plainly to be seen that 
the devil goeth about like a roaring lion seeking to 
disturb the New English church, and we must e’en 
fight him to the death.” 

The afternoon service began at two o’clock, and 
lasted until the sun was low in the west. At its 
close, John returned with his parents to Lieutenant 
Smith’s, where his aunt, aided by her handmaiden, 
Mercy Jackson (an English girl who was serving 
the Smiths to pay for her passage over), prepared 
a warm supper. 


A PURITAN SABBATH. 


85 


First there was a smoking hot boiled Indian 
pudding. His aunt helped John to a thick slice, 
saying, — 

“Growing boys are hearty eaters, and I doubt 
not thou art hungry, John, after thy Sabbath fast.’' 

John admitted that he was. The pudding was 
followed by baked pork and beans from the brick 
oven, where they had been put to cook Saturday 
night. John was able to eat more than one help- 
ing, in spite of the pudding, and notwithstanding 
the fact that his mind was still troubled about 
the mysterious stranger, who appeared not, and of 
whom no mention was made. 

The supper dishes were left to be washed after 
sundown, and the rest of the daylight was devoted 
to reading the Scriptures in turn, varied by psalm 
singing. 

As darkness began to fall, Lieutenant Smith 
said, — 

“ Thou canst rest under our roof to-night, John. 
There will be ample room for thee to remain here. 
Had we looked for thy arrival last night, it could 
have been so arranged.” 

“ I had just as soon go to cousin Samuel’s, ” 
John ventured to suggest. 

“’Tis not necessary to-night,” said Lieutenant 
Smith, decidedly, and John dared make no further 
objections. 

When his Aunt Elizabeth escorted him upstairs 


86 the YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 


to bed, she opened the door of the small back 
chamber, into which John had seen the stranger 
disappear, saying kindly, — 

“ This will be thy chamber, John. Good night. 
I trust thou wilt rest sweetly.” 

“ Good even, aunt,” said John, rather faintly. 

He was glad that Watch had followed him 
upstairs. 

“ Here, Watch, good Watch,” he said, patting 
the blue woollen coverlid as an invitation to Watch 
to jump up on the bed and sleep. 

This was an indulgence usually highly prized by 
Watch, and one not often offered him. Yet to- 
night he refused to go to bed, but ran sniffing about 
the room in a restless, excited way, whining and 
scratching at the door. 

“ He seeth somewhat that I cannot,” thought 
John, his heart beating fast. 

It seemed to him that his torch of candlewood 
burned with a bluish light and a strange sputter- 
ing. And did he detect a faint odor of brimstone, 
or was it only his fancy ? 

John decided, in spite of the stranger’s warning 
not to betray him, that he should rest better to at 
least counsel with his father. He rapped on his 
father’s chamber door. 

Goodman Ellis stuck his head out, already en- 
cased in its pointed nightcap. 

“ What is ’ t, boy ? Art ill ? ” 


A PURITAN SABBATH. 87 

“ No, father, but I would speak with thee some- 
what.” 

Goodman Ellis at once came into John’s bed- 
room, thinking to himself, — 

“ John hath shown some signs of dejection this 
even. Perchance some of the shafts from Mr. 
Russell’s discourse to-day are rankling in his 
heart, and he is awakened to a saving sense of 
his sins. ’T was verily a most weighty discourse, 
sound physic for sinners.” 

But when John unfolded his story of the mys- 
terious stranger, Goodman Ellis’s countenance 
changed strangely. 

“ My son,” he said, with more emotion than 
John had ever seen him manifest, “ breathe not a 
whisper of him whom thou hast unluckily chanced 
to see, to any mortal. More is at stake than thou 
canst understand. ’T is a most dangerous secret, 
involving precious lives. Can I trust to thine 
honor that thou wilt hold it sacred ? ” 

66 Yea, father, thou mayst,” said John, earnestly, 
much impressed. “ But, father, I am not fear- 
some, but — art sure that Satan hath no hand in 
the matter ? ” 

“ Nay, nay, my son. Thou mayst rest easy on 
that score. Satan hath no part or lot with such 
as he, save as it delighteth him to harry and per- 
secute the Lord’s holy ones. Rest at peace in thy 
bed, and try to forget what thou hast seen.” 


88 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

John went to bed, more puzzled than ever over 
this mystery, but easier in his mind for his 
father’s assurances. Yet he was not sorry when 
Watch, having completed his investigations to his 
own satisfaction, at last jumped on the bed, and, 
curling himself up on the blue coverlid at John’s 
feet, went fast asleep. 

John well knew that dogs and horses were gifted 
with a sort of second sight, and that they could 
see many things hid from human eyes. So, com- 
forted by Watch’s serene repose, he himself soon 
fell asleep. 


/ 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE SCARLET GEWGAW. 

W HEN Prudence and Hannah went to bed 
Sunday night, Hannah summed up their 
whispered discussion of the finery seen at meet- 
ing by saying, — 

“ ’ T was a most pleasing treat to see. But me- 
thinks Mistress Westcarr was somewhat over 
bravely clad, for her means, and for meeting. 
To-morrow morning, Prudence, be sure to mind 
me to show thee the thing I told thee of.” 

“ I ’ll not forget,” said Prudence. 

“ My mother hath promised that, after I have 
spun my morning stint to-morrow, I may go over 
to thy house, and help thee get settled. And she 
saith, if thy mother consents, I may take thee to 
make acquaintance with some of my mates : Pris- 
cilla Warner and Mehitabel Porter and Mary 
Wells. Mary Wells is the young sister of Thomas, 
the husband of Mistress Hepzibah, and is my great 
friend. ’T was thus Mistress Hepzibah chanced to 
give me what thou shalt see to-morrow morn.” 
Prudence’s curiosity was roused, and she said : 


90 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

“Why cannot I see it to-night, Hannah ? ” 

But here the candle wood splint settled the mat- 
ter by going out, leaving the room in utter dark- 
ness. There was nothing to be done but to go to 
sleep and so shorten the time of waiting. 

The girls were up early next morning. As soon 
as they were dressed, Hannah, having carefully 
closed her door, opened the large chest standing in 
one corner of her room where her clothing was 
kept, and digging down under a pile of stout 
knitted stockings filling the till, she brought forth 
a small bundle carefully wrapped up in a bit of 
linen, and pinned with a large brassy pin. 

“ Why, hast thou a pin of thy very own ! ” ex- 
claimed Prudence. 

“ Yea, I have, as thou seest. My mother hath 
but two. Mistress Wells hath a noble heart. She 
gave me the pin when she gave me this,” said 
Hannah, as, unrolling the linen, she held up to 
Prudence’s admiring gaze a knot of scarlet ribbon. 

“ What a brave color ! It dazzles my eyes ! ” 
exclaimed Prudence. “ ’T is far brighter than a 
rose. Didst ever put it on, Hannah ? ” she asked 
with bated breath, as one who speaks of a for- 
bidden temptation. 

“ I oft take it out to feast mine eyes on its 
brave color,” said Hannah, “ and sometimes I 
fasten it on at night, when I come up to bed, for 
a moment. I will show thee how it looketh on me.” 


THE SCARLET GEWGAW. 91 

Hannah pinned the scarlet bow under her chin, 
and turned complacently towards Prudence. 

“ I would I had a mirror to see myself with it,” 
she said. 

“ Oh, Hannah, truly ’t is a pity thou canst not 
see thyself ! ” exclaimed Prudence. “ That brave 
knot lighteth up thy sad-colored gown, and maketh 
thy cheeks more red, and thine eyes bright. Thou 
lookest as fine as a London gentlewoman. ’T is 
most pleasing. I would that I, too, had a knot of 
that goodly color.” 

“ I will let thee put this on for a moment,” said 
Hannah. “ Then I, too, can see how it looks.” 

As Hannah was pinning the scarlet bow be- 
neath Prudence’s soft round chin, suddenly the 
door opened, and her mother, a stirring woman, 
thrust her head in, saying briskly, — 

“ Come, come, girls, you are belated. ’T is 
Monday morn, and we must — ” 

Here her eye fell on the scarlet bow, and she 
stopped, thunder-struck, gazing sternly at the two 
culprits, who stood hanging their heads in guilty 
silence. 

“ Where didst get yon vain gewgaw, Hannah 
Smith ? ” she demanded. 

“ Mistress Hepzibah Wells gave it to me,” 
faltered Hannah. 

“ Mistress Wells is a vain, giddy hussy,” said 
Goodwife Smith. “ I look for a heavy judg- 


92 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

ment from the Lord upon her, an she mend not 
her idle walk and conversation. Give me the 
gewgaw.” 

Marching downstairs, followed by the downcast 
girls, Goodwife Smith cast the pretty knot of 
ribbon into the kitchen fire. 

“ It shall be a burnt offering,” she said. 

The flames seized greedily upon its brightness, 
and in a moment it was shrivelled, blackened, 
gone. 

Hannah was unable to repress her tears. 

“ I would thy tears were for thy stony heart, 
and not, as I fear, for thy sinful gewgaw,” said 
her mother. “ The pin is of value, and I will not 
destroy that. Thou canst return it to Mistress 
Hepzibah with thy mother’s thanks for the fine 
example she setteth her daughter.” 

Here Chileab Smith said, — 

“ Doubtless young Mistress Wells meaneth no 
harm. She is but young and light-minded, and 
thinketh not how her vain example tendeth to 
corrupt our youth. But — ” 

“ Thou excusetb her because she is fair to look 
upon,” burst in his wife. 

“ Goodwife, thou interruptest me,” said Chileab, 
continuing gravely : “ My daughter, the psalmist 

saith that favor is deceitful, and beauty is vain, 
but the woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be 
praised. Such an one do I pray to see thee become, 


THE SCARLET GEWGAW. 


93 


but I fear that thou setteth thy heart too strongly 
on the things that perish. After breakfast, I will 
have a season of special prayer with thee, that thine 
eyes may be opened to the truth.” 

For the morning selection of Scriptures, Hannah 
had to read, as her portion, the last part of the 
third chapter of Isaiah, beginning at the eighteenth 
verse. 

The girlish voice sounded rather pitiful as it 
read in tearful accents the long list of the sinful 
finery of the daughters of Zion, — their “ chains 
and bracelets and mufflers,” their “ bonnets and 
ornaments of the legs and tablets and earrings,” 

their “ nose jewels and wimples and crisping 

• > > 
pms. 

Prudence felt herself under a cloud, as an ac- 
complice in Hannah’s sin, and was unable to make 
much response to the cheerful advances of Luke 
and Ebenezer, who seemed in remarkably good 
spirits, possibly rather pleased than otherwise that 
Hannah was having her turn in being “ dealt 
with.” 

“ Come with me, my daughter, to thy chamber,” 
said Chileab, after return thanks. 

As Hannah and her father withdrew, Luke 
whispered to Prudence, — 

“ An it had been one of us boys that had trans- 
gressed, father would have trounced us soundly 
with the rod. I see not why girls should not be 


94 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

whipped as well as boys. Because they whimper 
and make so sore outcry, I dare say.” 

“ What art whispering to thy cousin, Luke ? ” 
asked his mother, rising from the hearthstone, 
where she had been placing the covered bake- 
kettle containing dough to raise for bread. 

“ Let us have no more folly,” she continued. 
“ Thou mayst go now and take thy cousin down 
to her new home. Go first to thy grand sire’s, 
though I doubt not her mother is already 
gone to work. Hannah will stay in the house 
to-day, and spin an extra stint. She hath been 
too idle of late. Satan loveth an idle dawdler, 
for then he seeth fruitful soil for his seed.” 

“May we go with Luke and Prudence ?” asked 
Ebenezer and Pelatiah. 

“ I see no harm in ’t,” said their mother, after 
a moment’s pause for consideration. “ But come 
directly home again and to thy work. Goodwife 
Ellis will have too much to do this morning to 
want idlers around under foot, I wot.” 

Prudence was glad to escape out doors, and 
drew a long, free breath as she stepped into the 
June sunshine, that poured down a golden flood 
of blessing on saint and sinner alike. 

The children went first to Lieutenant Smith’s, 
where they learned that the Ellises had already 
gone to their own home. They crossed the green 
again, where were pasturing a few horses and oxen. 


THE SCARLET GEWGAW. 


95 


Ebenezer picked up a bit of broken tree branch, 
and began to whip and drive an ox peaceably 
grazing near him. 

“ Haw, buck, gee ! ” he cried, starting the ox 
into a clumsy run. 

“ Have a care, ’Nezer,” said his older brother. 
“That is William Webster’s ox. An Goody 
Webster chanceth to see thee chasing it, thou 
mayst have an evil charm cast on thee.” 

“I was only playing I was the cow-keeper,” 
said ’Nezer, hastily dropping the whip. 

. “ Ho, a proper cow-keeper thou ! The cow- 
keeper was up and off to the cow commons with 
his herd long ago,” said Luke. “ Father drove 
our cows out for him before breakfast, and I 
heard his horn sound while we were eating. 
Thou couldst not be such a sleepy head mornings, 
an thou wert the cow-keeper.” 

“I am glad our poor Brindle will be safe 
guarded from the Mohawks,” said Prudence, tell- 
ing her cousins the sad fate of her father’s other 
cow. 

“ Thou needst have no fear now,” said Luke, 
“ for the cow-keeper beareth a gun, and keepeth 
a sharp outlook for prowling enemy Indians or 
wild beasts. And he taketh good care to drive 
the herd home ere the gates are shut.” 

“ There are some Indians now ! ” exclaimed 
Prudence. 


96 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

A wrinkled old squaw, her back bent under a 
load of skins, was following meekly down the 
street an Indian brave, who bore quarters of 
venison. 

“ That is Mattawan and his old squaw, Masha- 
lisk, going doubtless to Dr. Westcarr’s to truck 
their skins and venison for his wares,” said 
Luke. 

“ More likely for his firewater,” said Ebenezer. 

“Dr. Westcarr hath been bound over of late for 
trial by our Commissioners, so he will be wary of 
selling liquors to Indians for a season, methinks,” 
said Luke. 

“ I like not to see Indians,” said Prudence. 
“ The sight of them maketh me shudder as if I 
had stepped on a serpent.” 

“ Thou wilt soon become wonted to them,” said 
Luke. “ They are to and fro every day among 
us, and we think nought about them.” 

The horses and cattle pasturing on the green 
were, save the Indians and children, the only 
living things stirring up and down the long, sunny 
street. The men and boys were off at work on 
the meadows, the women and girls busy indoors. 
But one more person did the children encounter. 

As they neared Dr. Westcarr’s house, out came 
an old dame, wrinkled and bent, with snowy hair, 
leaning on a staff. 

“ Good morrow, lads,” she said in a cheery tone, 


THE SCARLET GEWGAW. 


97 


that accorded well with the kindly face, bright 
despite its wrinkles. “ Is this thy young English 
cousin with thee ? ” 

“Yea, good Granny Allison,” said Luke, re- 
spectfully. 

“ It cheereth my heart to see the fresh roses of 
Old England on thy cheeks, child,” said Granny 
Allison. “ Tell thy good mother I shall come to 
see her shortly. And come thou, child, to see me, 
and tell me how it fareth now in Old England. I 
would I could see home once more, ere I die. But 
I must hasten on, and not be idly chattering here.” 

“ Who is ill, Granny ? ” asked Luke. 

“Dr. Westcarr is grievously valetudinarious. 
He hath sore misgivings that God is wroth with 
him for his dealings with the Indians, and hath 
sent this sickness on him in anger, and that he 
will not recover. I must home and concoct a 
healing potion that hath marvellous virtue in 
such ailments.” 

The good granny hobbled off down the street, 
while Luke explained to Prudence, — 

“ Granny Allison will tell thee merry tales of 
doings in old England, an thou visitest her. My 
mother and others deem her guilty of vain con- 
versation, and doubt if she be, at heart, a true 
non-conformist. But she hath wondrous skill as 
a healer, and she is so kindly too, that even the 

magistrates care not to meddle with her.” 

7 


98 the YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

“ Granny Allison made Shadrach Clarke eat the 
meat of a rattlesnake once, when he was weakly 
and could not go to school,” said Ebenezer. “And 
she keepeth snake balls, for I saw them once.” 

“ Ugh ! ” said Prudence, “ I would gladly rather 
be ill than take such horrible medicines.” 

“ Granny saith that rattlesnake’s meat hath 
wondrous virtue,” said Luke. “I know that 
Shadrach was restored able to go to school the 
next day after tasting it. But here is thy house. 
Good-by. We will come to see thee and thy 
brothers soon, mayhap to-night.” 

Prudence looked with great interest on her 
future home. She saw a small house, unpainted 
of course, covered with thick clove-boards, its 
roof, steep in front, sloping down in the rear to 
cover a lean-to. The front door opened directly 
into the living room. The windows had solid 
wooden shutters, with bolts to fasten them at 
night. 

Nathan and Abigail were sitting on the door- 
stone, waiting to be the first to show Prudence 
the new home. Peletiah loitered behind. 

“ I would fain stay awhile, Luke,” he said, 
“ and play with my cousin Nathan.” 

“ Come on, thou laggard,” said Luke, pulling 
him by the hand. “ Thou knowest full well that 
thou wilt get a sound basting an thou stayest 
without permission.” 


THE SCARLET GEWGAW. 


99 


So Peletiah had reluctantly to leave, while 
Nathan and Abigail, seizing Prudence’s hands, 
pulled her into the house. 

Out of the living room was a bedroom, and 
back of it, in the lean-to, a small summer kit- 
chen. Rude, steep stairs led to two chambers 
above. 

Near the huge fireplace stood a high-backed 
wooden settle. 

“See what nice seats Abigail and I have,” said 
Nathan, showing some solid blocks of wood. “ And 
there are blocks for thee and John too. But this 
is the best seat of all,” said Nathan, sitting down 
on a seat inside the great fireplace. “ This will 
be nice and warm in winter. And I can see 
the sky,” he added, peeping up the black depths 
of the chimney. 

The living room was a square, low room, seem- 
ing still lower from the two heavy beams that 
ran across the ceiling. In these beams were 
fastened clumsy iron hooks. The ceiling and 
walls of the room were of matched boards, un- 
painted. 

It was not a bright, luxurious interior that met 
Prudence’s eyes. But it looked pleasant to her, 
for it had the charm of novelty, and, above all, 
it was home. Here the Ellises could settle down, 
and worship God after their own fashion, in peace 
and freedom. 


100 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

“ Is not this a goodly house ? Art not glad we 
came to live in Hadley ? ” asked Nathan. 

“ I like the house well,” responded Prudence, 
heartily. “ And I trow we shall have some merry 
times here with all our cousins. Hannah hath 
told me much of their doings.” 

“I care not over much for my cousin Pelatiah,” 
said Nathan. 

“ I dare say you two will be great friends, once 
you are acquainted,” said Prudence. 

Goodwife Ellis had been busy, meantime, set- 
tling; their few belongings. Lieutenant Smith had 
purchased for her husband a few necessary articles 
of heavy furniture, and wooden trenchers and 
piggins, all rudely constructed by the Hadley car- 
penter ; and she had brought from Old England 
her store of pewter, clothing, tow and holland 
sheets, etc. 

Prudence found her mother full of trouble. She 
was trying to kindle a fire in the kitchen fireplace. 
Volumes of smoke poured down into the room, and 
out the open door and window. 

“ I know not what aileth this chimney,” she 
said, wiping her smarting eyes. “ It will not draw. 
I verily believe it is bewitched.” 

“ Perchance it is, mother,” said Prudence, “ for, 
as we came along, ’Nezer chased an ox, and Luke 
warned him to stop, lest the wife of its owner cast 
an evil spell on him. Luke saith that Goodv 


THE SCARLET GEWGAW. 


101 


Webster is by common report a witch, and that 
she works much harm on those who offend her. 
And she liveth not far below us.” 

“ Doubtless that is the trouble,” said her mother. 
“ We must use great care how we deal with her. 
Yet I see not why she should bear ill will against 
strangers like us.” 

a Luke saith that the witch hath a venomous 
spite against father’s cousin, Philip Smith, because 
he hath threatened to have her presented at court 
for her wicked practices, and so she hateth all of 
his connections on his account,” said Prudence. 

Goodwife Ellis now peered up the chimney, and 
fancying that she perceived some obstructions 
through the dense smoke, sent Nathan for a long 
pole. With this, she was not long in dislodging a 
mass of swallows’ nests that had accumulated in 
the disused chimney. 

The evil spell was now broken, the fire broke 
out into a bright blaze, and Goodwife Ellis took 
fresh heart. 

“ While I unpack the pewter and arrange it on 
the dresser,” she said, “do thou and Nathan, 
Prudence, take this bag and go up the street to 
the river bank, and fill it with the finest, whitest 
sand thou canst find, to sand the floors. Take 
Abigail with thee, as it will keep her out of my 
way, and if ye hap to see any scouring rushes, 
bring home a goodly handful.” 


102 the YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

The children went willingly on this agreeable 
errand, and prolonged it as long as they decently 
could. 

It was fascinating to loiter on the shore of the 
bright river, which swept by so peacefully yet 
strongly, shining in the sun, lapping gently against 
the stones, reflecting the blue sky, the birds flying 
low over its waters, the bushes and trees along its 
banks. 

Nathan and Prudence had a fine game of ducks 
and drakes. Nathan improved so that he could 
make the flat stones skip out of the water almost 
as many times as his older sister. 

This game might have gone on much longer, 
had not the children happened to see two Indians 
in a canoe, paddling swiftly down stream towards 
them. 

“Methinks ’t is time to go home,” said Nathan, 
seizing the bag of sand. 

But Prudence was already scrambling up the 
bank, pulling Abigail after her as fast as she could. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


ON MOUNT HOLYOKE. 

G OODMAN ELLIS and John, escorted by 
Samuel Smith, had gone this Monday 
morning to view the section of meadow land in 
Hockanum which had been a part of the Ellises’ 
purchase from the Hawks family. 

Goodman Ellis bestrode his strong white mare, 
while John and Sam rode the brown one, and 
Watch trotted merrily along behind, before, all 
about, glad indeed that an expedition of some sort 
was evidently on foot. 

“ ’T is best to take your guns,” Sam had advised. 
“ True, there is no fear of Indians, but we may 
chance on some game.” 

Sam, who owned no gun of his own, though free 
to use his elder brother’s, felt almost envious of 
John as he handled and admired the snaphance. 

It was pleasant to ride that glorious June morn- 
ing along the river side down the Springfield road 
through Fort Meadow, in some places covered with 
thriving crops, in others waving with tall, rank, 
wild grass, their view to the south bounded by the 


104 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 


two great mountains rising grandly up against the 
blue sky. 

Goodman Ellis’s heart glowed within him with 
a vivid sense of God’s loving-kindness to him and 
his, as he gazed about on the beautiful scene, and 
he hummed a psalm tune as he jogged along. 

When they trotted across the strong bridge of 
logs over Fort River, John said, — 

“ Verily, this seemeth like Old England. This 
is the first bridge I have seen in this land.” 

“ T is almost the only one, I trow,” said Sam. 
“ but the town is minded to build a cart bridge 

o 

next spring, on the Bay Path, south of Spruce 
Hill. ’T is a great conveniency in crossing streams, 
especially in time of high water.” 

John was careful to dismount and close the 
Fort Meadow gate after them, and this reminded 
him to ask Sam, — 

“ Sam, I would gladly earn the bounty offered 
by the town for slaying wolves. Think’st thou I 
can kill any?” 

“ Thou canst easily,” said Sam. “ I will help 
thee make a wolf pit. A good place is on the 
Pine Plain, for they lurk about there in great 
numbers, striving to catch and devour our calves 
and swine. We lose many by the pests. Per- 
chance we can go up on the mountain to-day and 
find a good spot for a pit. We may e’en chance 
on a wolf there.” 


ON MOUNT HOLYOKE. 


105 


Arrived at Hockanum Meadow, Goodman Ellis 
viewed with much satisfaction his section of four 
acres, divided from his neighbors’ land only by 
mere stones, the floods which covered the meadows 
every spring making it impossible to maintain 
fences. 

Lieutenant Smith and his sons, knowing how 
vitally important abundant crops were to the 
settlers in this new land, where each must depend 
solely on what his own hands could bring forth 
from the soil by hard toil, had kindly planted 
their kinsman’s land with the crops they knew to 
be most necessary : corn, peas, rye, wheat, and 
flax. In the rich new soil these crops had already 
made a rank growth that amazed the English 
eyes of Goodman Ellis. 

“ Verily the fertility of this land is greatly to 
be marvelled at,” he exclaimed. “ The corn is 
high enough already for the first hoeing. John, 
thou and I must bring down our hoes to-morrow, 
and at it in earnest.” 

“ Of late ’t is the custom to plough between the 
rows,” said Sam. “ ’T is found to save much 
labor in hoeing. I wot father will gladly lend 
thee his plough.” 

“ What are these plants and vines growing 
amongst the maize?” asked Goodman Ellis. 

“ Father and Uncle Chileab deemed it wise to 
adopt the Indian custom for thy land, as they 


106 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

have for their own,” said Sam. “ The Indians, 
on their plantations on Indian Bottom, are wont 
to plant beans with the corn, and pumpkins be- 
tween the hills. Thus they get three crops 
instead of one from the same land.” 

“ Verily, a most wise course,” said Goodman 
Ellis. 

Now whether the air and sunshine of this 
bright June morning had gone to Goodman 
Ellis’s head, or what was the matter can never 
be known ; but certain it is that, after he had 
thoroughly looked over his growing crops, he 
astonished the boys by saying, — 

“ Samuel, I am not one given to idling, but, 
being new in this land, and the morning being 
broken, I count it no sin to spy out the country 
round about. Methinks if we could ascend this 
great mountain a piece, there would be a goodly 
prospect.” 

“Oh, let us go up the mountain by all means,” 
said John, delighted at this novel inclination to 
relax in pleasure-seeking, the first time that his 
father had ever shown such a tendency in John’s 
recollection. 

“ ’T is quite safe to go, for there are no Maquas 
about now,” said Sam, also eager for the expedi- 
tion. “I can guide thee, for I went up in the 
spring before planting, with young Thomas Wells, 
who is a famous hunter.” 


ON MOUNT HOLYOKE. 


107 


“ Didst get any game ? ” asked John. 

“ Great store of it,” said Sam, “ and the venison 
and turkeys we brought back were truly a bless- 
ing, for the long winter had sorely wasted our 
stock of provisions. In truth, we get most of our 
meat from the woods and streams, save what our 
swine furnish.” 

Sam led the way towards the crack of the 
mountain. 

“ Canst not go directly up from the meadow ? ” 
asked Goodman Ellis. 

“Nay, ’t is too steep,” said Sam. “ ’T is easier 
to go roundabout to the valley of the crack, where 
the ascent is easier. We can ride a piece till the 
slope groweth steeper.” 

Leaving the meadow behind them, they soon 
struck into the oak and chestnut woods covering 
the lower slope of the mountain. Here there was 
little undergrowth to hinder their riding between 
the trees. 

Goodman Ellis looked about in wonder and 
admiration at the primeval forest, where the 
sound of an axe had as yet never been heard, at 
the great trees ripening to decay, at the wealth of 
vines swinging from tree to tree in wild luxuriance, 
full now of odorous blossoms. 

“ Verily,” he said, “ this canopy of verdure is a 
goodly spectacle. Yon huge oak mindeth me of 
that which Scripture telleth us of, whereon Ab- 


108 THE YOUNG PURITANS OE OLD HADLEY. 

salom was caught up by the hair of his head, 
between the heavens and earth. Doubtless he 
wore unseemly long locks to his destruction, like 
our gallants.” 

John and Sam were not thinking much about 
Absalom. They were keeping a keen lookout for 
game, and so was Watch, sniffing eagerly about as he 
made wide excursions on all sides into the woods. 
The forest was full of life, and Watch found ample 
scope for his activity. Now he chased a rabbit 
that vanished into its hole before he could seize 
it ; now he started a partridge that fluttered up 
into a tree out of his reach ; now a gray squirrel 
eluded him. . 

The boys laughed to see so much fierceness 
wasted, but Watch lost not a whit of his ambi- 
tion, starting on a fresh hunt after each disap- 
pointment with cheerful energy. 

Many a bright flash of color lit up the forest, as 
robin or bluebird darted from branch to branch, or 
sat swaying lightly on some pendent bough tip, 
singing love songs near its nest. 

O o O 

John was looking up at the birds, with no heart 
to shoot such merry warblers, when he saw some- 
thing new to him. 

“ Sam,” he said, “ didst see that little creature 
leap, it seemed to me full twenty feet, from yonder 
giant oak into the top of that tall chestnut ? I can 
hardly believe my eyes, yet verily I saw him do it.” 


ON MOUNT HOLYOKE. 


109 


“ There is a species of squirrel in these woods, 
that by a certain skill flieth from one tree to 
another. Doubtless, ’t was one of those thou 
saw st. 

“ Verily this is a land of marvels,” said Good- 
man Ellis. 

“ We must needs tie the horses here, and mount 
the rest of the way on foot,” said Sam. “ ’ T is most 
steep above here.” 

“ Methinks ’t were wise to leave Watch to guard 
our beasts,” said Goodman Ellis. “ Watch ! Here, 
sir, lie thee down here.” 

Watch was evidently sorry to give up his happy 
prowlings about the woods. Yet he appreciated 
the honor of his charge, and lay down by the 
sapling to which the horses were tied, looking 
proudly about, as if thinking, — 

“ Let any one touch these horses at his peril. / 
am here.” 

The ascent now grew steeper, broken by rocks, 
and strewn with mossy logs, trunks of great pines 
that, wasted by natural decay, had fallen in the 
fierce gales of some bygone winter, long ere the 
foot of a white man had trod Mount Holyoke. 

Pines and birch trees began to take the place of 
the chestnuts growing lower down. Mountain 
laurel bushes in profusion lighted up the forest 
aisles with their shining leaves and their pink and 
white flowers, and John was thinking, — 


110 the YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

“ I will gather some of those posies for Pruda 
when I come back,” when Sam cried, — 

“ Quick, John ! Your gun ! ” 

Far up beyond them, where a spring gushed out 
of the mountain side, John saw a beautiful deer 
drinking from the spring, a fawn by her side. 

John and his father both fired. The shots 
smote harshly on the quiet morning air, and 
echoed along the mountain. In far away Hadley 
street people listened, and wondered if Indians 
were about ; then thought, — 

“ These be times of peace. ’T is but some 
hunter at his sport.” 

The deer gave a great leap, and, followed by 
her fawn, bounded swiftly away into the forest. 
Goodman Ellis was vexed. 

“ Verily, this gun must be bewitched,” he said. 
“ I aimed most surely, and I see not otherwise how 
I could have missed the creature.” 

“ ’T was likewise with me,” said John. 

“ It taketh some practice to shoot wild game,” 
said Sam. “ Thomas Wells and others of our 
skilled hunters are sure shots. They hit birds on 
the wing, and deer on the run. That deer was at 
long range for any gun.” 

Better luck awaited them farther on, when they 
came upon a flock of wild turkeys feeding on 
wintergreen berries and tender new leaves in an 
opening in the woods. Almost as soon as seen, 


ON MOUNT HOLYOKE. 


Ill 


the turkeys vanished, but not before two quick 
shots had laid low a large gobbler and a hen. 

John, overjoyed, ran to pick up the game, while 
his father, well satisfied, said, — 

“ God hath shown His loving-kindness to us in 
this stroke of good fortune. Thy mother will wel- 
come this addition to our larder, now when we 
are but poorly stocked with provisions.” 

“ What shall we do with them?” asked John. 
“ This huge fellow weigheth twenty pounds, an 
he weigheth an ounce.” 

“ Hang them up on a bough till we return,” 
said Sam. 

“We have no twine with us,” said John. 

“ No lack of that in the forest,” said Sam. 
“ Here, close by, is a shrub called moosewood, 
whose bark the Indians oft use for strings.” 

Sam peeled long strips of the tough, fibrous 
bark from the moosewood stem, with which the 
turkeys were tied foot and foot, and left dangling 
high up on a pine bough, near the spring. 

The ascent now became a rough scramble up 
what seemed to them an almost perpendicular 
rocky wall. Placing their feet cautiously, now on 
a narrow projecting shelf, now in a cleft or crack 
among the rocks, they pulled themselves up by 
the stunted cedars and hemlocks that hung out 
from the rocks, their roots firmly fastened deep 
in the crannies. 


112 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

Sam, who led, came out at last on top a bare 
rock, exclaiming, — 

u Here we are at last ! ” 

John scrambled up next, and last of all came 
Goodman Ellis, puffing and panting, and realizing 
that he was not so young as the boys. 

They stood at first lost in wonder at the vast 
picture spread out below them, one of the most 
beautiful on which the sun shines. It was not 
strange that John exclaimed, — 

“ I knew not that the whole world was so srreat ! ” 

O 

Their view swept over hundreds of miles, from 
the ranges of mountains and hills in the far north, 
with summits rising here and there above the 
rest, to be called later “ Greylock,” “ Monadnock,” 
“ the Green Mountains,” down the valley of the 
Connecticut, almost to its mouth in the adjoining 
colony. For many miles they traced the course 
of the noble stream, from among the distant hills 
in the north, winding along until it made the 
great curve which held Hadley lovingly nestled 
in the hollow of its embracing arm, and then 
swept majestically on between its two great moun- 
tain guards, Tom and Holyoke, on its way over 
the Connecticut border. 

As far as the eye could reach, in every direction, 
was only forest, unbroken save by some fertile 
meadows along the river, the Indians’ planting 
ground from days of old. 


ON MOUNT HOLYOKE. 


113 


They looked with deep interest at the little 
cluster of houses on the peninsula below made by 
the river’s curve, which was their home, and were 
glad to see that other small group of houses across 
the river, finely situated on a plateau rising above 
the meadows, which Sam told them was the 
neighboring plantation of Northampton. Behind 
them the mountain range on which they stood 
stretched far away in rough and rugged grandeur, 
covered with woods, save where bare rocks jutted 
boldly out. 

Goodman Ellis lacked words to express his 
delight in a scene of such grandeur and extent as 
he had never before looked upon. Finally he 
burst out, — 

“ Verily, a most amazing and pleasing sight ! 
A goodly heritage hath the Lord given into the 
hands of His chosen ones ! This mindeth me how 
Moses gat up from the plains of Moab into Mount 
Nebo, to view the promised land. The ever- 
lasting hills, the mountains of Zion,” he murmured 
to himself, striving by familiar Scripture phrase 
to express the feeling of exaltation that filled his 
soul, high here on the mountain top. 

“ Where lieth Springfield, Sam ? ” asked John. 

“To the southward, below the mountains, and 
the great falls in the river. Thou canst see 
smoke there, the day is so clear. To the north, 

near where the river first appeareth among the 

8 


114 the YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

hills, lietli the new settlement of Pocumtuck, or 
Deerfield, as they think to call it. T is but lately 
begun. Beyond Deerfield, save a small settle- 
ment begun of late at Squakeag, is nought but 
unbroken wilderness to Canada.” 

“ By God’s help His people have run through a 
troop, and leaped over a wall,” said Goodman 
Ellis. “ He hath brought them forth into a large 
place. His voice shaketh the wilderness, and 
breaketh the cedars of Lebanon. Blessed be the 
name of the Lord, who hath wrought great things 
by His mighty arm.” 

As they stood, elated by standing above the 
world, as it were, looking afar over earth and sky, 
a great bird flapped slowly over. 

“ Yon goes an eagle,” said Sam. 

John would fain have tried a shot at the eagle, 
but it had lighted on a dead pine projecting from 
a rocky summit beyond the range of his gun. 

Now Goodman Ellis aroused himself from his 
absorption, saying, — 

“The height of the sun proclaimeth that noon 
draweth nigh, and we must e’en descend from 
this mount of the Lord. I bless His holy name 
that mine eyes have been permitted to behold 
this goodly vision. ’Tis time profitably spent.” 

The downward climb, though rougher work, was 
also much speedier, and they were not long in 
coming to the spring, where they found their tur- 


115 


ON MOUNT HOLYOKE. 

keys safe, though a great buzzard was circling 
above the woods, suspiciously near. John took 
one turkey, Sam the other, and they pressed on 
down the mountain. 

“ Watch will be sore weary waiting for us,” said 
John. “But ’twas well we left him behind. He 
could not have climbed those great rocks.” 

“ Hark ! ” said Goodman Ellis, suddenly stop- 
ping. “ Me thinks 1 hear him barking loudly.” 

Listening, they plainly heard loud barking and 
yelps from Watch’s direction, indicating immense 
excitement. 

“I marvel much what is the matter,” said John. 
“ His bark hath a note of alarm.” 

They ran as fast as the nature of the ground 
permitted among the trees, to the spot where 
Watch and the horses had been left. As they 
drew nearer, Watch’s yelps took on a shrill tone 
of distress. 

“ Some wild beast devoureth him ! ” cried John, 
speeding breathlessly on, ahead of his older and 
stouter father. 

Watch had good reason for his yelps, as John to 
his horror found, when he saw his faithful dog 
clutched close in the embrace of a young black 
bear. 


CHAPTER IX. 


THE BEAR. 



HE bear, prowling about the forest, perhaps 


X frightened to a lower range from the heights 
above by the gun shots, had come out upon Watch 
and the horses. The spirited white mare had 
broken her tie rein and fled. The other horse was 
snorting, rearing, pulling, in frantic efforts to 
escape. 

Watch, undismayed by the sight of this strange 
beast, had bravely attacked him, but had been 
overpowered in the unequal struggle, and now the 
bear, standing on its hind legs, clutched him in a 
death grip, striving to crush out his life. 

John hurriedly fired a shot which penetrated the 
bear’s thick hide, causing him to drop Watch and 
rush fiercely at his new foe. 

Goodman Ellis poured a round of bullets from 
his gun ere the beast relaxed its grasp of John and 
fell. Sam rushed up with his large knife and gave 
the bear the finishing stroke, though not without 
having one hand badly torn by the claws of the 
wounded animal. 


THE BEAR. 


117 


“ Ha/’ said Sam, “ but for my stout buckskin 
breeches, my legs would have fared worse than my 
hand.” 

“ Again hath the Lord preserved us,” said Good- 
man Ellis, as he stood leaning on his gun, looking 
with something very like natural human pride on 
his first bear. “ Is the good Watch much hurt ? ” 

“ He bleedeth so that I cannot tell yet whether 
any of his bones be broken or no,” said John, who 
was tenderly trying to soothe his beloved dog friend. 
“ Good Watch, poor Watch,” he said, trying to 
make him understand how much he admired his 
pluck and faithfulness. 

“ Watch is a valiant hound,” said Sam. 
“ ’T would be a pity to lose him.” 

“ But thine hand bleedeth sorely. Thou art 
badly hurt,” said John. 

“ ’T is not much,” said Sam, trying to make 
light of his injury. “ But ’t is an inconveniency 
here in the wood, so far from home.” 

The situation was indeed rather awkward. A 
dead bear, a wounded boy and dog, on the moun- 
tain side, to be gotten home with only one horse. 
What was to be done ? 

Goodman Ellis felt extremely anxious about his 
white mare, an animal brought by him from Eng- 
land, whose value here in the wilderness could 
hardly be estimated. 

“ I judge it wise to leave the bear here, and 


118 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

press on in pursuit of the mare,” he said. 
“’T would be a sorry stroke of God’s providence 
should we lose her.” 

“ Go thou in search of her, cousin Reuben,” said 
Sam. “ The bear’s carcass is too useful to be wasted. 
Bear’s steak maketh a noble feast, and the skin is 
most useful. John and I will contrive some way 
to take it home.” 

Goodman Ellis, willing to accept advice accord- 
ing so well with his own inclinations, threw the 
turkeys over his shoulder, and hurried down the 
mountain, looking hard as he strode on, wherever 
the ground was soft, for hoof tracks to guide him. 

John was as determined as Sam to get the bear 
home somehow. 

“ Prudence will be sore frighted to look upon it, 
I doubt not,” he said, “but my mother will see 
now how wise it was for my father to buy me a 
snapliance of my own.” 

He contrived to swathe Sam’s hand in large oak 
leaves, bound on with strips of moose wood bark, and 
made a sling for his arm from a wide strip of the 
bark. 

“ Do thou, Sam,” he said, “ mount the horse, 
and I will e’en try to load on the bear’s carcass.” 

Now came a struggle. The frightened horse 
wheeled and curveted about this way and that 
a long time before the boys’ united efforts suc- 
ceeded in soothing her enough to allow the carcass 
to be flung across her back. 


THE BEAR. 


119 


“Now canst bear poor Watch in front of 
thee?” asked John. 

“ Yea, an thou leadest the horse,” said Sam. 

“ That I must needs do, or she will throw thee 
ere thou knowest where thou art,” said John. 

Long after the noon hour, when Goodwife Ellis 
had become thoroughly anxious about the missing 
ones, Nathan and Abigail were playing goal 
before their door with their cousins Ebenezer 
and Pelatiah, who proved most merry playmates, 
when Ebenezer, chancing to look up, saw this 
strange sight : John coming up the street lead- 
ing the horse, on which sat Sam, pale and weak, 
bearing before him Watch, all bloody and dis- 
tressed, and behind a black bear’s carcass thrown 
across the horse. 

“ Look ! look ! ” cried Ebenezer. “ Our brothers 
have had a fight with a bear ! ” 

At the word “ bear ” Abigail fled into the house, 
crying, — 

“ A bear ! a bear ! ” 

Out ran Goodwife Ellis, prepared for the worst, 
and out peeped Prudence through a cautious crack 
in the door. 

Great was the excitement at the boys’ story, 
and deep the sympathy and admiration of all the 
children for good Watch. Prudence hastened to 
make a soft bed in the chimnev corner for him, 
while the younger brothers looked with great 


120 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

respect on Sam and John as hunters of renown, 
and told each other what they would do if they 
chanced to meet a bear. 

Sam went home, where his mother, fearing that 
his wound needed greater skill than she was mis- 
tress of, sent one of the younger boys after Granny 
Allison, saying, — 

u Tell Granny the nature of Sam’s hurt, and 
ask her to bring such simples as she deemeth 
needful, for I have but a small stock of physical 
herbs.” 

Granny Allison came hobbling over as soon as 
summoned. Examining the wound, she said, — 

“ Odsplut ! But that bear did give thee a sound 
clawing ! ” 

Good wife Smith frowned at this exclamation. 

“ Use not profane terms here, Granny,” she 
said, “ lest the Lord fail to prosper thy healing 
arts.” 

Granny Allison shed this advice with the cheer- 
fulness which seemed so natural to her that 
even the Puritan views — which, indeed, she was 
suspected to hold somewhat loosely — could not 
dampen it, and prescribed a poultice made of 
elder leaves and milk for the wounded hand, 
and a plantain tea to be taken internally, “ to 
cool the humors of the blood.” 

Her surgery done, Granny said, — 

“ I trow I ’ll e’en trudge down to Goodman 


THE BEAR. 


121 


Ellis’s and take a look at Sir Bear. I have seen 
no bear since I was wont to see the bear-baitings 
in Merry England.” 

Good wife Smith frowned again at this light 
allusion to a sport forbidden among the Puritans ; 
but not wishing to offend Granny Allison, lest 
she lose her healing skill in some emergency, 
she kept a stern silence. 

Late in the afternoon, Goodman Ellis returned 
home, tired and hungry, from his vain search for 
the white mare, much dejected at this new mis- 
fortune. 

“ Perchance,” he said, “ ’twas a sinful waste of 
time to go idling upon the mountain, calling down 
God’s anger upon me. Yet I thought it no harm 
to learn somewhat of this new land wherein we 
have pitched our tent.” 

“ Thou hast something of the boy still left in 
thee, Reuben Ellis,” said his wife. “ ’T was a 
true boyish freak in thee, methinks, to climb yon 
great mountain causelessly.” 

“ ’T was the goodliest sight mine eyes e’er 
rested on,” said the good man, the vision of 
beauty he had seen rising again before his mental 
eye. “ I wouldst thou too could gaze upon it, 
Experience, but no woman can e’er ascend that 
wondrous steep mountain. Yet it much feareth 
me, as thou sayest, that the natural man o’ercame 
the man of grace in me, that I was tempted to 


122 the YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 


idleness and pleasure-seeking by Satan, and that 
the Lord hath sent this disaster upon me in token 
of His sore wrath.” 

As the sun was setting, Prudence, who was 
sitting on the door-stone, looking down the quiet 
street, feeling somewhat lonely and homesick, 
wishing she could see again Rose Hathaway, her 
dear playmate in far-away England, suddenly 
cried out, — 

“ Father, there is an Indian coming up the 
street. An I mistake not, he leadeth our white 
mare, Bess. Yea, ’t is verily she ! ” 

The Indian proved to be none other than We- 
quogon, who, finding the mare in the woods, seeing 
by her saddle that she had run away, and recog- 
nizing her as the property of Goodman Ellis, had 
brought her back to her owner. 

As he drew near he said, — 

“ Netop, Englishman. Wequogon found the 
Englishman’s squaw horse many arrow shots 
away, on the great mountain,” pointing towards 
the south, where Mount Holyoke, pink in the hues 
of the setting sun, rose up in all her evening glory. 
“ Wequogon Englishman’s friend. Bring squaw 
horse back.” 

“ Good Wequogon,” said Goodman Ellis, “ I 
will not forget this kindness at thy hands. 
Verily, as the Scripture saith, they that dwell in 
the wilderness shall bow down before the Lord, 


THE BEAR. 


123 


and the heathen shall praise Him ! Come in and 
sup, friend.” 

Willingly did Goodman Ellis place in We- 
quogon’s hand a goodly string of wampum beads, 
and cheerfully did his wife prepare a big supper 
from her larder, now so bountifully replenished 
with good store of bear and turkey meat, and 
greedily did Wequogon devour everything set 
before him, to the last savory scrap. 

Nathan and Abigail stood at a safe distance, 
watching his greedy eating with a sort of horrified 
fascination, while Watch, from his cozy bed in 
the corner of the fireplace, gave low growls now 
and then, in spite of Prudence’s patting and hush- 
ing, showing too plainly what he thought of the 
visitor. 

White Bess was a trifle lame, but not otherwise 
the worse apparently for her wild run in the 
forest. 

At prayers, that night, Goodman Ellis’s heart 
overflowed with gratitude to God for His unde- 
served mercies. Still mindful of the beautiful 
sight he had that day seen, he selected for his 
Scripture reading the chapter in Mark which re- 
counts the transfiguration of Jesus on “ an high 
mountain;” and then he said, — 

“ Let us sing to the praise of God the nine- 
teenth psalm.” 

The voices of parents and children, even little 


124 the YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

Abigail’s, blended sweetly as they rose in 
quaint words of Sternhold’s version. 

“ The heavens and the firmament 
do wondrously declare 

The glory of God omnipotent, 
his works and what they are. 

In them the Lord made royally 
a settle for the sun, 

Where lyke a Gyant joyfully 
he myght his journey run. 

And all the sky from end to end 
he compast round about ; 

No man can hide him from the heat 
but he will find him out.” 


CHAPTER X. 


THE BOUND GIRL. 

O NE pleasant afternoon, soon after dinner, 
Hannah came down to Prudence’s, carry- 
ing an Indian basket woven of oak splints, rudely 
stained red and blue with dyes from forest plants. 
Her face was full of joy and animation. 

“ Cousin Experience,” she said breathlessly, 
“ wilt thou suffer Prudence to go with me and 
some of my mates to the Pine Plain this afternoon 
for blackberries ? ” 

“ Are the berries ripe yet ? ” asked Goodwife 
Ellis, while Prudence waited her mother’s decision 
with an anxiety that flushed her fair face with 
changing color. 

“ Mary Wells came up last night to tell me 
that her brother Jonathan saith the berries are 
ripe, and most plentiful too, over on the Plain. 
My mother hath given me the whole afternoon, 
for she desireth berries to dry for use next winter. 
Wilt suffer Prudence to go too ? ” 

“ If thy mother alloweth thee to go, Hannah, 
doubtless the place must be safe. Thou mayst 


126 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

go, Prudence. Thou hast worked diligently 
to-day.” 

Prudence’s face shone at this praise, and the 
happy prospect of a whole afternoon’s outing 
with the other girls. 

“ Take with thee the large basket that I pur- 
chased from Awonusk. An thou wastest no time 
in idle play, but bringest me home good store of 
berries, thou shalt have some with thy bread and 
milk for supper to-night.” 

“ Thou shalt see that I will bring thee a plen- 
teous store of berries, mother,” said Prudence, joy- 
fully, as she tied on her linen cap. 

The girls hastened across the street to Mary 
Wells’s, where they found impatiently waiting 
their coming, not only Mary herself, but her next 
door neighbor and crony, Mehitable Porter, and 
also Priscilla Warner, Nathaniel’s sister, and Sub- 
mit Carter. 

“ Thou art as slow as slow, Hannah,” said 
Mary, a quick-tempered but warm-hearted girl. 

“ I had to wait for Prudence,” said Hannah. 
“ But now let us hasten on and get to filling our 
baskets.” 

As the girls went down the street, Priscilla, 
who walked with Prudence a little behind the 
rest, said to her in a low tone, — 

“ ’T is passing strange that the Widow Burn- 
ham hath suffered her bound girl to go with us. 


THE BOUND GIRL. 


127 


She must have wanted blackberries sorely. ’Tis 
said that Submit hath to toil early and late, like 
a negro slave.” 

“ I pity her,” whispered Prudence, “ yet, I 
know not how it is, I like her not. She seemeth 
strange, unlike other girls. I wish she had not 
come.” 

“ My mother saith we must treat her kindly, 
because she is a bound girl,” said Priscilla. “ But 
I feel towards her exactly as thou. Thou knowest 
it is commonly reported that she ran away down 
in Connecticut and wished to dwell in the forest 
among the Indians ! ” 

Submit Carter’s father was a Boston sailor ; a 
man regarded by his Puritan acquaintance as of 
loose life and doubtful character. On returning 
from one of his foreign voyages, he had brought 
this little girl, Francesca, as he called her, his 
child, he said, by a foreign wife, who was dead. 

He failed to return from his next voyage. It 
was supposed that he had been captured by pirates, 
but his fate was not known. The Boston towns- 
men had bound out the friendless orphan, Fran- 
cesca, until she was of age, to the Widow Burnham, 
who had removed not long after to the Connecti- 
cut Colony, and thence up the river to Hadley. 

The Widow Burnham was one of the most 
rigorous of the Puritan matrons. Rumor reported 
her to be a hard task-mistress. She had at once 


128 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

changed the child’s name to Submit, against Fran- 
cesca’s passionate remonstrances and pleadings. 

“ I like not that hateful name,” she had cried 
with a tempest of tears. “ I will be called by my 
mother’s name that my dear daddy gave me. He 
was wont to call me his darling little Francesca, 
his heart’s delight. I am Francesca, not Submit ! ” 

“ Hoity toity, my fine mistress,” said Widow 
Burnham, “ a becoming way this for a bound girl 
to talk, forsooth ! Submit is a proper name, be- 
fitting thy condition. Francesca, or whate’er 
thou call’st it, is a pagan name, unbecoming a 
Christian. Let me hear no more of it, an thou 
wouldst not have a sharp taste of yon bundle of 
rods.” 

Francesca’s last name soon changed into plain 
“ Carter ” in colonial phrase. And so Francesca 
Cartier became outwardly Submit Carter, but in 
her heart she clung to her old name, and was 
always Francesca. 

More than once had she made intimate acquain- 
tance with the widow’s bundle of rods. Once she 
had run away, wildly resolved to go, she cared 
not whither, anywhere for freedom. But there 
was nowhere to flee to but the woods, and the 
friendly Indians who had found her, brought her 
back next day, and since then she had been kept 
more closely than ever. 

Francesca was a slight child, with abundant 


THE BOUND GIRL. 


129 


black hair, a clear, dark, colorless skin, and great 
black eyes, with an eager, discontented, yearning 
expression. Among the strong, rosy children of 
English descent, she looked like something exotic, 
foreign. It was felt that there must be some 
strain of pagan blood in her. 

Mr. Russell and the deacons often exhorted 
Widow Burnham to use peculiar diligence to raise 
this heathen child in the nurture and admonition 
of the Lord, lest Satan snatch her soul to perdition. 

“ May it please your worships,” quoth the widow, 
“ I wrestle faithfully for her salvation, in season 
and out. Nor do I spare the rod. But ’t is pass- 
ing hard to train a sprout of evil up into a fruitful 
olive-tree in the Lord’s vineyard. She chooseth to 
eat the bread of idleness.” 

To do the widow justice, she was actuated not 
only by a thrifty purpose to get all the work pos- 
sible out of this alien bound girl, whom she must 
feed and clothe, but also by a sincere desire to 
save Submit’ s soul, and train her up into a Chris- 
tian womanhood. 

Submit had hardly been able to credit her ears 
that summer morning, when told by her mistress : 

“ Goodwife Wells saith that her Mary and a 
party of her young mates go to the Pine Plain this 
afternoon for berries. An thou wouldst not be 
so slothful, I am half a mind to suffer thee to go 
with them.” 


9 


130 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

The color flushed Submits dark cheek, and 
her eyes flashed. She said nothing, but the spin- 
ning wheel whirled with so merry a hum that 
morning in the widow’s kitchen that even the 

o 

widow was moved to rare praise when Submit, 
her spinning done long before the noon-mark pro- 
claimed mid day, took the broom made of birch 
twigs and fell to sweeping and sanding the floor 
without being told. 

“ Thou couldst be a most desirable handmaiden 
an thou wouldst,” said Widow Burnham. 66 Thou 
art deft and handy by nature, wert thou not so 
stubborn and stiff-necked. I could not have spun 
those rolls quicker or smoother myself. Thou 
mayst go this afternoon, an thou wilt work as 
briskly at berry gathering as thou hast this 
morning.” 

Submit’s face softened at these words, almost 
kind, but when Widow Burnham felt it wise to 
add, — 

“ An thou bringest not home a goodly store of 
berries, I will baste thee soundly for idling,” her 
face darkened into its usual sullen expression. 

The party of girls went down the Middle High- 
way to the woods, then through the gate, up the 
bank, and were on the Pine Plain. The pine woods 
formerly covering the Plain had been mostly cut. 
All around the stumps, fallen logs, and piles of 
brush grew a wild profusion of blackberry bushes, 


THE BOUND GIRL. 


131 


hanging low now with heavy clusters of fruit, in 
all stages from green berries to those of luscious 
ripeness and sweetness. 

At first Submit said little to the other girls, her 
sensitive nature keenly sensible of their mental 
attitude towards her. She seldom minoded with 

O 

them. They attended Dame Twitchell’s school 
in winter, but Submit was kept at home to 
work. 

None dreamed the joy with which Submit shut 
the highway gate behind her. The chains seemed 
to drop from oft her soul. For one afternoon at 
least she was free, free as the birds that flew above 

her, free as the clouds floating over, as the summer 

< 

breeze that tossed the pine tops and blew about 
her like some unseen playmate, as Submit often 
felt, urging her to come away and live forever 
joyfully with it under the open sky. 

At first her slim fingers flew nimbly, and her 
basket filled faster than the others. But all the 
time a feeling of wildness, like that of a caged 
bird suddenly let loose, surged in her heart, and 
she felt tempted to some wild prank. 

“ I am glad,” said Hannah, “ that no enemy 
Indians have been seen of late, for then we should 
not have been suffered to come out on the Plain 
to-day.” 

“ I would not care if we did meet the Indians,” 
said Submit. “I would I were an Indian. Their 


132 THE YOUNG PURITANS OP OLD HADLEY. 

life is far happier than ours, I trow. I would 
gladly go and roam the hills and forest with 
them.” 

“ Thou wouldst be more glad to come back, I ’ll 
wager, once thou hadst slept in their filthy wig- 
wams,” said Priscilla. 

“ I would sleep in the forest, under the trees 
and the stars,” said Submit. 

“ The wolves and the wild cats would devour 
thee,” said Prudence, remembering what she had 
seen and heard while journeying through the 
forest. 

“ Little would I care for them,” said Submit, 
with a wild look in her black eyes. “ I know a 
spell that can close their mouths.” 

“ Oh, ho ! Thou lovest to talk, Submit Carter,” 
said Hannah, mocking this assumption. 

A little later, Mary Wells exclaimed, — 

“ Do but look at Submit’s basket, girls ! She 
hath twice as many berries already as the rest of 
us ! Verily, I believe the witches are helping 
thee,” added Mary, jokingly. 

“ Perchance,” said Submit, with another wild 
glance from her bright, dark eyes, “ I know them 
well, and their master too.” 

“ Submit Carter ! Thou shouldst not talk that 
way, even in jest,” said Mehitable Porter. “ ’T is 
sinful.” 

“ I care not,” said Submit. “ I speak but the 


THE BOUND GIEL. 133 

truth, and thou wilt know it some day. And so 
will Widow Burnham, to her sorrow.” 

The girls exchanged glances, but dropped the 
subject, thinking the talk all part of Submit’s 
strangeness, and that she was only trying to 
frighten them. 

Straying farther on, they came to a little pool 
in a mossy hollow, on whose bank grew a mass 
of cardinal flowers in radiant bloom, the tall 
crimson spikes, leaning over the water, reflected 
against the background of blue sky lying in the 
pool’s dark depths. 

It was a sight full of beauty. The girls cried 
out in delight at the strange, bright flowers, and 
forgot all about berry picking as they ran to 
gather them. Hannah, whose longing for bril- 
liant colors made her especially delight in the 
crimson blossoms, could not resist twining a few 
into a wreath. 

Taking off her cap, she put the wreath on her 
head, and peered over into the pool, whose clear, 
dark mirror showed distinctly the girlish face, fair 
to see with its crimson crown. 

“ Oh,” said Hannah, with a sigh, “how I wish 
it were not sinful to wear bright hues ! ” 

“ Thou art fair to look upon, Hannah, with that 
bright wreath,” said Mehitable, a demure, quiet 
child, “ but I doubt truly whether it be not sinful 
to adorn thyself in that manner.” 


134 the YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

“I care not whether it be sinful or no/’ said 
Submit. “ Give me the wreath, Hannah, and I 
will show thee somewhat thine eyes never looked 
upon.” 

She cast her prim cap on the ground, loosened 
her long dark hair, and placed the wreath on her 
head, where it seemed to transform her into some- 
thing as bright as itself. Her eyes shone, a rich 
color rose to her cheeks, and new life seemed to 
fill her lithe, slight form: She said to Hannah : 

“ Repeat these words, ‘ How now, Ophelia? 

“ What ineaneth such gibberish ? ” asked Han- 
nah, her curiosity excited to see what the strange 
girl would do next. “ ‘ How now, Ophelia ? ’ ” 

To the girls’ amazement, Submit began to sing 
a wild, weird song to a plaintive air, clasping and 
waving her hands in a distracted fashion. 


“ How should I your true love know 
From another one? 

By his cockle hat and staff, 

And his sandal shoon. 

He is dead and gone, lady, 

He is dead and gone; 

At his head a grass-green turf, 

At his heels a stone.” 

“ ’T is a most strange, mournful song,” said 
Mary Wells. “ Where didst learn it ? ” 

“ My dear daddy taught it to me,” said Submit. 
“ ’T is a play-actor’s song that my father heard at 


THE BOUND GIRL. 


135 


a play in London, writ by one of good Queen 
Bess’s play-actors. I used to sing it on shipboard 
to the sailor men.” 

“ A play-actor’s song ! ” exclaimed the girls, 
horrified that they had listened to anything so 
wicked. 

“ Ay. And I can dance, too,” said Submit. 

Humming a wild air, to whose strain her body 
swayed lithely, the little flower-crowned figure 
circled round and round on the green sward in 
a graceful dance. 

The girls could hardly believe that this was the 
Widow Burnham’s sullen bound girl. Life, joy, 
shone in her eyes, and bloomed in her cheeks, as 
she danced, swaying this way and that to her song, 
twining and waving her slender arms above her 
head in time with the motions of her nimble feet. 

The girls had never seen anything like it, and 
gazed upon her with a sort of fascinated horror. 
It did not look wicked, but they knew it must 
be, for was it not dancing ? They well knew they 
ought not even to look upon this forbidden thing, 
yet — ’t was so novel ! Their curiosity was ex- 
cited to see for once what this dancing, so much 
condemned, was like. 

“I would ’twere not sinful to dance,” said 
Hannah Smith at last. “It looketh so pleasing.” 

“ But ’t is sinful, and sinful in us to counte- 
nance it,” said Mehitable, stoutly. “Submit 


136 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

Carter, an thou stop not, we will go away and 
leave thee ! ” 

Submit rested lightly on one foot, like a bird 
lighting on a branch, and looked at the girls, a 
triumphant light blazing in her eyes. At last the 
girls had seen her real self. They knew Francesca, 
the Francesca wdio dreamed beautiful impossible 
dreams, as she drudged in dreary silence at the 
Widow Burnham’s hateful tasks. 

“ ’T is not sinful to dance,” she said hotly. 
“ Something in here — ’’laying her hand on her 
breast — tells me so.” 

“ Satan, ’t is likely, or some of his imps,” said 
Mary Wells. u But, girls, look at the sun ! T is 
sinking low, and yet our baskets are not filled.” 

The girls went back to picking berries, but their 
minds were full of Submit’ s strange performances. 
Submit saw that they were impressed, and felt 
with secret delight the power which she, the op- 
pressed bound girl, could exert over these girls 
more favored by fortune. 

“ Doubtless thou hast seen many strange and 
wondrous things in thy wanderings, Submit ? ” 
said Priscilla Warner. 

“ Verily I have,” answered Submit. “I have 
seen Satan himself.” 

The girls looked upon Submit with mingled 
horror and curiosity, and Hannah said, — 

“ Tell us about it, an it be true.” 


THE BOUND GIRL. 


137 


“ First I saw him in the form of a huge black 
bear,” said Submit. “’Twas when I journeyed 
up from Hartford with Widow Burnham. ’T was 
a darksome night, but I saw him plainly by the 
light that his eyes gave out. His eyes shone like 
coals of fire as he ran beside me in the path. My 
flesh crept all over. Then he leaped up behind 
Widow Burnham and sat on her saddle-cloth.” 

“ Submit Carter ! ” exclaimed Mary Wells, 
“ have a care what thou sayest. An thou best, 
the devil, who is the father of lies, will be after 
thee sure enough. How knewest thou that it was 
not a true bear ? ” 

“ Because he spoke to me, and asked me to 
sign his covenant with my blood,” said Submit, 
solemnly. “ He promised me, an I would, he 
would take me away from the widow, and give 
me a red silk gown and many other fine things, 
and I should live merrily all my life.” 

“ Thou didst not do it ! exclaimed Hannah. 

“ Not then, but I may another time. He oft 
urgeth me to it. I saw him last night in the form 
of a little black dog, with red eyes in his back, 
sitting just outside Widow Burnham’s back door, 
when I went out to feed the swine. He spoke 
to me and said, — 

“ 6 Art ready to sign, Francesca ? ’ 

“ ‘ Not yet, good Mr. Devil,’ quoth I. But 
next time — ” 


138 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

“ Thou shouldst never have any commerce with 
the Evil One, or e’en think of such a wickedness,” 
broke in Mehitable. 

“ Hast told the minister, Mr. Russell, of this 
tempting of Satan?” asked Hannah. 

“ Nay, but perchance I will some day,” said 
Submit, well pleased as she saw the girls look 
at her askance, with ill-concealed fear, and yet 
with a certain respect, as for one who has had 
unusual and remarkable experiences. 

“ ’T were safest for thee to confess speedily to 
Mr. Russell and the deacons,” said Hannah. 

The sun was now so low that Submit knew 
supper time must be approaching, and that she 
should certainly receive the promised whipping 
from the widow if she were late, while yet her 
basket, owing to the pleasing diversions of the 
afternoon, was not filled. 

Bidding the other girls a hasty “ good even,” 
she started down the Middle Highway on a run, 
thinking all the way what excuse she could make 
to her mistress, how escape the promised whip- 
ping. When she came out on Hadley street, she 
moderated her gait to a rapid walk, for the Puri- 
tans liked not “ immoderate walking” even, much 
less “ unseemly running.” 

The other girls lingered as long as they dared, 
hurrying to pick as many berries as possi- 
ble, for their baskets were not so well filled 


THE BOUND GIRL. 139 

even as Submit’s. Finally they too started for 
home. 

The evening shadows fell long from the west, 
a dewy coolness filled the sweet air, the birds 
warbled their good-night songs from every tree ; 
all spoke of love and peace. But to the girls’ 
excited fancy, there was something weird and 
uncanny in the sweet summer twilight. They 
kept close together and hurried on, looking fear- 
fully over their shoulders now and then to see if 
perchance a black bear with fiery eyes or a dog 
with eyes in his back were not pursuing them. 

Ere they reached the gate into the Middle 
Highway, their fears were intensified by a snarl- 
ing, whining howl, which came from a clump of 
bushes on their right, accompanied by a sound 
of scrambling and scratching. 

Prudence began to run, followed closely by the 
panic-stricken girls, until suddenly Mary Wells 
bethought herself to say, — 

“ Prudence, run not so swiftly. I mind me 
now that Jonathan told me yesterday that he 
had helped thy brother John to dig a wolf-pit 
on Pine Plain. Doubtless, John hath already 
captured a wolf in it.” 

“ John will be greatly rejoiced an that be so,” 
said Prudence, “ for he wanteth sorely to buy lead 
to run shot and bullets for his snaphance. But 
let us still hasten, for we know not that it is 


140 the YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

a wolf. Or, if it be, the creature might get 
out.” 

“ It may be Satan in form of a wolf,” suggested 
Mehitable. 

Animated by these fancies, the girls sped on, 
almost falling over each other in the determination 
of each not to be the last one in the little group. 

“ I trow I am glad to be safe among Chris- 
tian houses again,” panted Priscilla, when, out 
of breath with their race, the girls entered 
Hadley street. 

“ I will walk home to thy door with thee, 
Prudence,” said Hannah, seeing that her young 
cousin was even more frightened than the older 
girls. 

“ Wilt thou, Hannah ? ” said Prudence. “Thou 
art so kind. I wish Submit had not told us those 
tales. Yet ’t was most interesting. I long to 
hear more.” 

“ How pretty she looked when she danced ! ” 
said Hannah. “ I would ill like my Grandsire 
Smith or my father and mother to know that 
I had countenanced dancing. But truly ’t was a 
most pleasing treat. Submit Carter hath sailed 
the ocean with her father, and visited foreign 
lands, and I doubt not she can tell many a strange 
tale.” 

“ Oh, Hannah ! ” cried Prudence, clutching her 
cousin’s gown, “yon is Goody Webster! And 


THE BOUND GIRL. 


141 


her black cat is beside her ! See how its eyes 
glare ! Oh, Hannah, [ ’m sore frighted ! ” 

“ ’Sh, Prudence, be not so fearsome,” said 
Hannah, although her own heart beat faster. 
“We will speak her civilly, and pass quickly by, 
and she will not harm us.” 

At the entrance to the Middle Highway to the 
Meadow, near her own house, which was next the 
town pound, stood Goody Webster, an ill-favored, 
scowling woman, whose furies of ill temper had 
often found vent in dark threats of dire punish- 
ment to be dealt out by some unknown power on 
those who had angered her. Perhaps she rather 
enjoyed the awe with which her reputed witch- 
craft inspired her neighbors who were better off 
in this world’s goods than she. 

Her pet cat, a huge black fellow without a 
white spot on him, in whose great greenish-yellow 
eyes the girls’ excited fancy saw a baleful fire, 
rubbed about her feet, in truth begging for his 
supper. 

“ Good even, Goody Webster,” said Hannah, 
with timid civility, while Prudence, careful to 
keep on the farther side of her cousin, clutched 
her gown tightly, trying to hasten her pace by 
pulling her along. 

“ Fiddle-dee-dee, with your mealy-mouthed 
‘ Good even, Goody Webster,’ Hannah Smith,” 
mocked Goody Webster, who seemed in a furious 


142 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 


rage. “ The name of Smith shall be a stink and 
a hissing in this settlement ere many days. One 
that hath power will shortly visit that purse- 
proud hypocrite, thine uncle Philip Smith, and all 
his tribe with such direful woes as the world hath 
never witnessed ! ” 

Amazed at this unexpected assault, the girls 
stood spellbound, and Goody raved on. 

“ The proud oppressor shall wither away. 
He,” and Goody waved her hand wildly aloft, 
looking up as if she saw something invisible to the 
girls’ eyes in the dusk, while her cat started and 
looked eagerly too, — “ He will avenge the cup of 
wrongs which the rich man hath pressed to the 
lips of the poor and down-trodden. Blackest 
curses light on Philip Smith, on him and his 
forever ! ” 

The shocked girls waited to hear no more, but 
rushed on, like autumn leaves driven before a 
biting wind. They forgot to be anxious about 
their reception at home with their partly filled 
baskets. If only they could get safely under the 
home roof again, let mothers scold as they would. 

“ I much fear,” whispered Hannah, as they 
hurried on, “ that we sinned grievously this after- 
noon, in countenancing dancing and play acting, 
I above all, because I began it by putting on the 
wreath ; and that some fearful judgment will be 
visited upon us.” 


THE BOUND GIRL. 


143 


“ Shalt tell thy mother?” asked Prudence. 

“ I like not to o’ermuch,” said Hannah, “ yet, 
perchance, should I confess to my father and to 
Mr. Russell, my sin might be pardoned.” 

Prudence glanced up fearfully now and then 
as she panted on, half expecting to see Goody 
Webster and her black cat sailing; along; overhead 
on her broomstick, although she well knew that 
these broomstick excursions rarely occurred save 
in the darkness of midnight. 

With great relief did she dash into her own 
door, while Hannah hastened on home alone. 
Supper was on the table, but Prudence saw at 
once that her father and mother were not eating, 
so absorbed were they in some exciting tale that 
John was recounting. Nor did they seem even 
to notice her lateness. Her mother only said 
hurriedly, — 

“ Come at once to thy supper, Prudence. And 
list the strange tale thy brother telleth. There 
be dark doings here in our midst.” 


CHAPTER XI. 


THE BEWITCHED CHILD. 

J OHN had been to the Great Meadow that day, 
helping Sam and Sam’s young man uncle, 
John Smith, the youngest son of the Lieu- 
tenant, mow Philip Smith’s grass. In return, 
when Goodman Ellis’s grass was cut, the cousins 
would help him. It was a common custom to 
exchange day’s work in this manner, and one 
highly approved by the boys, who found not only 
that “ many hands make light work,” but also 
that the pleasure of other boys’ companionship 
was a wonderful ease to labor. 

John, in a high-pitched, excited voice, went on 
with the tale interrupted by the entrance of 
Prudence. 

“ We had cousin Philip’s cart and his pair of 
young oxen that he hath lately broken to the yoke, 
to bring the hay home this even, and we were all 
riding on the cart. As we neared the Middle 
Highway to the Meadow, Sam saith, — 

“ *' I wonder if we shall catch a glimpse of the 
witch as we go by. I hope not, for she loveth not 
my father o’er well.’ 


THE BEWITCHED CHILD. 


145 


“ c Speak not of her. I doubt not she may know 
e’en so far away,’ said my cousin John. 4 Her 
ill will bodes us no good, I greatly fear. Waitstill 
Jennings told me that, two nights since, as his 
mother was getting supper over the fire, a great 
black hen flew down the chimney almost in her 
face. There was a pot of boiling water on the 
crane, and Goodwife Jennings was just going to 
stir in meal for her hasty pudding, when this 
black hen fell into the pot. But she had power to 
fly out again, with a mighty cackling and squall- 
ing, and vanished out the door. One wing hung 
down as though badly scalded. Though Goodwife 
Jennings ran after her speedily, she found naught of 
the black hen. This roused her suspicions, and the 
next morn she called on Goody Webster and found 
her with her hand bandaged up. She said she had 
scalded it. Waitstill saith his mother thinketh an 
some of our good wives should search her person for 
witch-marks, they would find enough to hang her.’ 

“ While cousin John was talking thus, we had 
come in front of Goody Webster’s house, when our 
oxen began to act most strangely. They seemed 
to see somewhat frightsome in the road, though 
we saw naught, and ran back and would not pass 
the house, though Sam plied the goad briskly. 
Goody Webster, with her black cat at her heels, 
stood in her door, laughing and jeering at us. 

Then cousin John cried out, — 

10 


146 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

“‘We must disturb the witch, would we get 
past her den.’ 

“ We all took our whips and went up to her, and 
John said, — 

“ ‘ Take off thine accursed spell from those oxen, 
Witch, or we will ply our whips on thy back.’ 

“ An a look could kill one, then had cousin 
John dropped dead, so furiously did Goody Webster 
glare upon him, as she cried out, — 

“ 4 Fool ! See, thy cattle run away from thee, 
while thou tarriest to trample on the poor. But the 
worm will turn — ’ 

“ John stayed to hear no more, for the cattle 
were indeed running down the highway toward 
the meadow as if some devil were behind them, 
as w T as doubtless the case, and it was with difficulty 
that we o’ertook them. 

“ When night came, we started for home with a 
great cartload of hay. Sam said, — 

I would we had not to pass Goody Webster’s 
again.’ 

“ 4 Our good-ox whips will break her spells, 
e'en as they did this morn,’ said cousin John. 

“ When we reached Goody’s door, she stood in 
it, looking evil and dangerous, though she said 
naught to us, or we to her. But what thinkest 
thou ? Although the ground is not very uneven 
there in the highway, suddenly our load of hay 
began to tip in a strange fashion, more and more, 


THE BEWITCHED CHILD. 


147 


till we saw plainly that it was going over. 
Cousin John waited for no words. He leaped 
down, and running up to the door, seized Goody 
Webster, and was about to lay his whip o’er her 
shoulders. And — wouldst believe it ? — the cart 
straightway righted itself ! Sam declareth that 
the witch turned the load clear over, and that 
it turned itself back again. I noted it not, for I 
was watching the witch. Ne’er saw I such evil 
looks. 

“ When cousin John released his hold on her, 
she straightened herself, till she seemed unnaturally 
tall, and screeched shrilly, — 

“ ‘ An enemy shall bind thee, John Smith, and 
take thee where thou wouldst not. Already I see 
thy gory head low in the dust.’ 

“ Cousin John looked sober, and said naught as 
we came home. Dost think the witch can harm 
him with her evil charms, father?” 

“ I know not, but ’t is greatly to be feared,” said 
Goodman Ellis. “ ’ T is a pity that John hath 
gotten her ill will.” 

Here Prudence told her experience with Goody 
Webster, which was heard with mingled interest 
and concern. 

“ ’T is a meet punishment for thy tarrying so 
late,” said her mother, now recollecting that she 
had omitted to do her duty in rebuking Prudence. 
“ Thou ’d best ne’er go near Goody Webster’s 


148 the YOUNG PURITANS OP OLD HADLEY. 

house again. Hadst thou come before when thou 
ought, this would not have happened.” 

“ An she continue these evil practices among 
us,” said Goodman Ellis, “ our magistrates must 
bind her over to appear at court and answer for 
them. I much fear that witchcraft is gaining 
ground in our settlements. Mr. Tilton told me 
last Lecture Day, that Goodwife Mary Bartlett, 
who died only last month in Northampton, is 
thought to have come to her end by witchcraft, 
through the malicious practices of one Mary 
Parsons. Although her husband is one of the 
foremost men in Northampton, nevertheless Mis- 
tress Parsons is to be dealt with by the county 
court at Springfield next month. This wicked- 
ness cannot be winked at, e’en though it appear 
in high places.” 

“ ’T is said to be a good help to detect witches 
to bind them fast and throw them in deep water,” 
said Goodwife Ellis. “ Widow Burnham saith 
this was tried with some suspected women in 
Hartford, and the witches swam like so many 
corks. I doubt not, an Goody Webster were 
thrown into the river, ’t would be found that 
naught could sink her.” 

“ Widow Anne Hibbens was hung at Boston 
for witchcraft no more perverse than Goody 
Webster’s practices,” said Goodman Ellis. “ An 
she mend not her ways, and cease to persecute the 


THE BEWITCHED CHILD. 149 

Lord’s elect, she too hath a fair chance to stretch 
the halter, methinks.” 

Absorbed in this engrossing topic, it was late 
ere Prudence thought to tell John, — 

••'John! What thinkest thou? Thou hast a 
wolf at last in thy pit over on the Pine Plain. 
We plainly heard it snarling and growling as we 
came by.” 

John looked pleased. Then a look of doubt 
replaced the smile of delight, and he said, — 

“ I will not go after it till morn.” 

“ ’T is wise, my son, to delay till the morn,” 
said his mother, “ e’en though perchance thou lose 
the bounty. Satan loveth to disguise himself in 
many forms, and peradventure this may not be a 
wolf. Evil practices so abound among us, ’t is best 
to be wary.” 

After family devotions were over, Prudence was 
told to go to bed, but hung back, reluctant to go 
up to her room alone, though the long lingering 
summer evening still gave a dim twilight, making 
other light unnecessary. 

“ Have no fears, child,” said her mother. 
“ Knowest thou not that thy father nailed a horse- 
shoe over our door as soon as he heard of Goody 
Webster’s ill repute? And our chimney hath not 
failed to draw since. Thou canst repeat a text of 
Scripture aloud. God’s Holy Writ is ever potent 
to exorcise the Evil One. And I will e’en go up 


150 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

with thee to-night, thou timid one,” added the 
mother, kindly, seeing Prudence’s eyes, big with 
nervous terror, glancing askance at the dark 
corners of the room, and out the open door, where 
an owl in a tree near by hooted dolefully. 

Comforted by a sense of the blessed, protecting 
mother-love, Prudence went to bed, and was soon 
fast asleep, with the sheet held tightly over her 
head. 

The next morning, John, having secured Sam’s 
company, went early to his wolf pit. Daylight 
had banished many of the creeping fears of the 
previous night, and when, to his joy, he found the 
wolf still in the pit, he was not afraid to put a 
speedy end to its torment. 

As he and Sam were coming back, on their way 
to the constable’s with the wolfs head, a bloody 
trophy, dangling by the ears, Sam said, — 

“ John, an the constable pay thee the twenty 
shillings’ bounty to-day perchance thy father will 
suffer thee to go with me to Springfield on Satur- 
day to get thy lead at Mr. John Pynehon’s ware- 
house. I go down thither then on an errand for 
my grandsire, who hath much dealing with Mr. 
Pynchon, and I would fain have thy company.” 

“ I will gladly go with thee, an my father can 
spare me and the horse,” said John. 

The boys were now nearing Widow Burnham’s 
house, where there seemed signs of some unusual 


THE BEWITCHED CHILD. 


151 


excitement. A group of neighbors stood before 
the bouse, and Mr. Russell, Deacon Goodman, and 
Deacon Tilton were just entering the door, the 
people standing reverently back to make way for 
these dignitaries. 

“ 1 wonder what is the matter at Widow Burn- 
barn’s, ” said Sam. “ Mayhap she bath some 
sudden seizure of illness, and the worshipful Mr. 
Russell and the deacons go to pray with her.” 

“ Let us tarry and learn what it may be,” said 
John. “ Hark, hearest those wild screeches from 
within?” 

The boys soon learned that strange things were 
indeed happening at the widow’s. 

When Submit came home so late, and yet 
with her basket not filled, the vials of the widow’s 
wrath had been freely poured out on her defence- 
less head. 

“ Idle hussy!” she exclaimed, “ thou shouldst 
have been here a half an hour ago. ’T is as I ex- 
pected. Thou hast idled away the whole afternoon. 
Thou shalt have such a basting as thou wilt not 
soon forget, I promise thee. I ’ll see if I cannot 
quicken thy sluggishness. But first go down cellar 
and bring up the milk.” 

Submit, with a dark, defiant look, went down 
the trap-door into the cellar, whence presently 
came such an ear-piercing scream that the widow 
hastened down herself, muttering as she went, — 


152 the YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 


believe that minx will worry me into 

my grave ! ” 

She was startled to find Submit standing rigidly, 
as if transfixed, her great black eyes gazing fixedly 
at a dark corner of the cellar as if she saw some- 
thing invisible to the widow’s eyes. Then she 
cried wildly, — 

“ What cheer, old man ? What cheer ? ” Then, 
seeming to listen, she cried, “ Oh, no, I cannot. 
No ! No ! Oh, my head ! ” clapping her hands on 
her head. “ Oh, my breast ! They strangle me,” 
and she gasped for breath, her hands struggling 
as if with something at her throat. 

The Widow Burnham was deeply alarmed. She 
well knew Submit’s symptoms to be those of a 
bewitched person. Seizing her by the arm, she 
dragged her upstairs, and demanded an explana- 
tion. 

Submit began laughing so immoderately that 
she fell down and rolled at the widow’s feet. Then 
she shrieked and tore her dishevelled hair ; then 
she lay rigid, declaring that something sat on her 
breast and strangled her. 

66 1 command thee, child,” said the widow, 
solemnly, “ confess who hath bewitched thee.” 

“ Oh, I cannot. They will not suffer me. How 
they pinch me! Oh, the pins! the pins ! ” cried 
the sufferer, rolling about in agony. 

Examining Submit’s limbs, the widow found red 


“ I verily 


THE BEWITCHED CHILD. 


153 


spots, as if they had been pinched. She put Submit 
to bed, and read the Bible to her, when the spell 
seemed broken. Submit, exhausted by her per- 
formances, fell fast asleep, and slept sweetly until 
morning, in spite of sundry ominous appearances 
which the excited fancy of the widow detected 
during the night, such as a lump “ as large as a 
cat ” which, in the dim twilight, she saw in Sub- 
mits bed, which disappeared when she went to put 
her hand on it, appearing again in another place. 

Once, too, the widow was wakened from the 
sound sleep into which she at last fell, by what 
seemed to be a mysterious shaking of the house. 
Rising and looking out the window, all seemed 
quiet as usual, but she saw a bright light in the 
sky, shaped somewhat like a sword, directly over 
the house of Thomas Coleman. 

In the morning, when it was time to rise and 
go to work, Submit’ s bewitchment came on worse 
than ever. She leaped and cried out, plunging 
violently about, finally trying to leap into the fire, 
it being all that the widow, aided by Goodwives 
Dickinson and Warner, who, hearing the uproar, 
had come in, could do to hold her back. 

When this paroxysm had passed off, Submit, 
lying limp on the settle, confessed, in reply to the 
urgent entreaties of the women, — 

“ The devil hath long tried to persuade me to 
sign a covenant with him. He oft cometh down 


154 THE YOUNG PUKITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

the chimney in shape like a dog, with a witch’s 
head, and sitteth on my breast. Oh, he cometh ! 
he cometh ! ” And Submit went oh into her 
spasms again. 

“ Seest thou not the print of a dog’s paw in the 
clay of the chimney ? ” whispered Goodwife Dick- 
inson, with bated breath. 

The other women looked with awe on a dent in 
the chimney’s clay daubing which might be the 
mark of a dog’s paw, — a strange, unnatural paw, 
unlike an earthly dog’s. 

“ I never noticed it there before,” solemnly 
testified the widow. 

“ Confess, girl,” said the widow, when Submit 
again grew calm, declaring that the devil had 
“ flown up the chimney,” “ confess that thou hast 
signed the covenant with Satan.” 

“ Yea, yea, I have so,” cried Submit. “ I signed 
it night before last with my blood. Tliou wilt find 
the knife with which he drew my blood stuck in 
the side of the house by the back door.” 

Sure enough, here was found one of the widow’s 
knives stuck fast. What more convincing proof 
was needed ? 

When asked to show the place where the devil 
had cut her, Submit displayed what looked much 
like a long scratch from a blackberry bush on her 
wrist. But it w r as enough. It takes but little to 
confirm the faith of those already convinced. 



















I 






















• What meaneth thy apish gestures, child?’ asked Mr. 

Tilton.” 


THE BEWITCHED CHILD. 


155 


The news of the bewitchment had spread mean- 
time, and other neighbors had come in. All 
united in advising the widow to lose no time in 
sending for Mr. Russell and the deacons. 

No one present could doubt that Submit was 
bewitched who witnessed her demeanor when 
these revered men entered the Widow Burnham’s 
bedroom, where she had been put to bed. Al- 
though she had been lying motionless, speech- 
less, her eyes closed, seemingly in a trance of 
some sort, she at once sat upright, and began to 
point wildly at them, waving her hands about 
strangely. 

“ What meaneth thy apish gestures, child ? ” 
asked Mr. Tilton. 

“ See the yellow bird,” cried Submit, “the yel- 
low bird on the minister’s hat ! Oh, this room 
is full of devils ! One percheth on Deacon Good- 
man’s back ! ” 

Deacon Goodman looked uneasily over his 
shoulder, while Submit began to laugh immoder- 
ately, and then to cry wildly. 

“ Her distemper is no doubt diabolical,” said 
Mr. Russell, gravely. “ Submit, I conjure thee, 
confess who hath bewitched thee.” 

After some further urging, Submit confessed : 

“ ’T is Goodwife Dickinson that hath bewitched 
me. 

Goodwife Dickinson, sitting by the bedside 


156 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

while Submit had lain in rigid unconsciousness, 
had said to Widow Burnham, — 

“ I always feared, good neighbor, that thou 
wouldst have trouble with this pagan child. Her 
father was a sorry son of Belial, ’t is commonly 
reported, and her mother was a heathenish woman 
of some sort, a Papist, perchance. ’T is not 
strange Satan seeketh to claim his own.” 

“Goodwife Dickinson!” exclaimed Mr. Russell. 
“ Surely thou art mistaken. Good wife Dickinson 
is one of our ancient, godly gentlewomen, who 
hath ever walked soberly and virtuously among 
us, a bright and shining candle of the Lord.” 

“ Nay, nay, ’t is verily she,” insisted Submit. 
“ She walketh soberly in the daytime, but by 
night she goeth gayly to the forest on her 
broomstick with Goody Webster and her cat. 
They asked me to go with them, promising that 
I should dance merrily with them and the devil 
around a great May pole, with bright May gar- 
lands on our heads. T was she who killed 
Thomas Wells’s cow by her charms.” 

Good wife Dickinson’s face blanched, and she 
gasped in her horror, unable to say anything. 
How could she defend herself from these charges, 
impalpable as air, yet heavier than lead to weigh 
down the highest reputations ? 

Even her best friends gazed upon her dubiously, 
with sudden suspicion. Had not Thomas Wells’s 


THE BEWITCHED CHILD. .157 

red and white cow lately died suddenly, with a 
lump in its throat ? 

“ I doubt that this accusation be not false. 
Yet, prithee, Goodwife Dickinson, lay thine hand 
upon the afflicted child.” 

As soon as Goodwife Dickinson’s hand was laid 
upon her, Submit writhed in agony, crying, — 

“ Take her away ! Take her away ! She 
strangleth me ! I cannot breathe ! ” 

When Goodwife Dickinson, dazed and con- 
founded, had left the room, Submit grew easier. 

“ ’T is plain that the child is possessed,” said 
Mr. Russell. “’Tis a grave business. I must 
confer with the worshipful Mr. Cotton Mather 
by the next post on this matter. He hath much 
wisdom in such sad cases. But I know that this 
kind goeth not out save by fasting and prayer. 
Let us invoke Divine help for this afflicted one.” 

All stood around the bed, while Mr. Russell 
offered up a fervent prayer, beseeching the throne 
of grace with strong cryings and wrestlings of 
spirit, that the Lord, the protector of the widow 
and the fatherless, would be pleased of His 
gracious love and longsuffering to haste to the 
deliverance of this fatherless and motherless child, 
and snatch her as a brand from the burning from 
the clutch of Satan, who sought to destroy her soul. 

The child lay quiet enough during the prayer, 
regarding the minister with a wistful look. Did 


158 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

he really care aught for her, as his words seemed 
to indicate ? 

At the close of the prayer, Mr. Russell, coming 
to the bedside, laid his hand kindly on Submit’ s 
hot forehead, saying impressively, — 

“ The Lord our God, who is mightier far than 
Satan and all his hosts, guard and protect thee, 
my daughter.” 

Submit lay so quietly now, that Mr. Russell 
said, — 

“ I think, friends, we may leave her for the 
present. Satan’s arts seem quelled for a sea- 
son. And here cometh our good healer, Granny 
Allison, whose wisdom in physical arts may be 
of some avail, even in this sad case.” 

Mr. Russell and the deacons walked gravely 
away, arranging for a day of fasting and prayer 
at Deacon Goodman’s house on the morrow, to 
be observed by all those in authority in the settle- 
ment, “ in view of the sad face of things among 

7 7 

US. 


CHAPTER XII. 


GRANNY ALLISON TO THE RESCUE. 

T HE exciting news that “ the Widow Burn- 
ham’s bound girl is bewitched ” had spread 
rapidly through the village, reaching at last the 
ears of Granny Allison, who exclaiming “ Fudge 
and fiddlesticks!” seized a bag of simples and 
her good staff, and hastened down to the widow’s 
as fast as she could hobble. She found a crowd 
of gossips around Submit/ s bed, trying to force 
further testimony from her about her bewitch- 
ment by Goodwife Dickinson, and recounting sun- 
dry strange and unaccountable happenings which 
had not struck them at the time, but which they 
now perceived to be passing strange. 

As Granny entered, Goodwife Goodman was 
saying, — 

“ T was Wednesday se’nnight that I was spin- 
ning, and my yarn tangled so sorely that I could 
do naught with it. I had but just said to Mercy 
that I verily believed it was bewitched, when 
Goodwife Dickinson came in. She said she had 
come for a porringer of emptyings for yeast, 
knowing that I was about to empty our beer 


I 

160 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY 

barrel. When she had gone out, lo, my yarn 
straightened as if by magic, as I doubt not it 
was. I thought naught of it at the time, but 
now I see — ” 

“ Fiddlesticks ! ” burst in Granny, unable longer 
to contain herself. 6C I tell ye Goodwife Dickin- 
son is no more bewitched than I. Have a care, 
gossips, how ye take up lightly this charge of 
witchcraft. To-morrow it may fall on you, next 
day on me. None, not e’en the most upright and 
godly, hath surety against it.” 

The talk stopped, partly from the general re- 
spect felt for Granny, partly from curiosity to see 
the effect of her entrance on the afflicted child, 
who was lying rigid, her eyes fixed, answering 
nothing to all their queries. 

Granny Allison regarded Submit a few moments 
in silence. Then she said, — 

“ Leave me alone with the child. ’T were best 
that all go home, and that the house be quiet, if 
I am to do aufflit to relieve her.” 

O 

Left alone with Submit, Granny first opened a 
window, letting a draught of sweet, pure air into 
the stifling; little room. Then she sat down be- 
side the child, took her hand, and held it quietly, 
saying nothing, but regarding her kindly yet 
shrewdly through her round horn spectacles, with 
the keen blue eyes, bright still in spite of age. 

Presently Submit began to cry, not in the wild, 


GRANNY ALLISON TO THE RESCUE. 161 

dramatic fashion she had been assuming:, but 
simply and naturally, — the plaintive sobbing of 
a sick and sorry child. 

Granny Allison had often given Submit a 
friendly nod or kind word when they had chanced 
to meet, and the forlorn child had felt drawn to 
her, as a possible friend. 

“What is it, Submit?” asked Granny, gently. 
“ Thou canst open up thy heart freely to me. 
But let us have no more bewitchments.” 

“ Oh, Granny Allison ! ” burst out Submit, with 
a flood of tears, “ I would I were dead ! ” 

“ Tut, tut, child,” said Granny. “ We must 
all live out our appointed time.” 

“I do wish so,” sobbed Submit. “ Ofttimes 
when I have been drawing water from the well, 
it looked so cool and still down in the mossy 
bottom where the blue sky and the white clouds 
lie, that I have been tempted to throw myself in. 
But I knew ’t was Satan that tempted me, and I 
fled away. And oft, when the widow hath beaten 
me, I have wished with all my might that the 
devil would indeed show himself to me, and I 
would gladly give myself up to him, body and soul, 
if he would but help me to plague and torment 
her with bewitchments. And now I fear that 
Satan hath heard me and gotten possession of me, 
for I have lied to godly Mr. Russell. I lied about 
Goodwife Dickinson too. She spoke cruelly of my 

11 


162 the YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

dear, dear daddy, and my dead mother. Oh, what 
will become of me ! What will become of me ! ” 

And Submit broke into what threatened to be 
a hysterical fit of weeping. 

“ Hush, child, hush,” said Granny, stroking the 
little forehead where the full, throbbing veins stood 
out in blue cords. 

There seemed some soothing influence in her 
touch, for gradually the violence of Submit’s sobs 
subsided. She was comforted somewhat, too, by 
her confession. Now she was not alone with her 
dreadful sin. 

Seeing her more quiet, Granny said, — 

“ Submit, thou hast doubtless done most wrongly. 
Yet God loveth thee.” 

“ But He hatetli sinners. He will be sore angry 
with me, and punish me,” said the child, regard- 
ing Granny with great terrified eyes, and clinging 
tightly to her hand, as if it were a possible protec- 
tion from this awful, overhanging wrath of the 
mighty God. 

“ He hateth the sin, but I think not that He 
hatetli the sinner,” said Granny. “ Doth not 
Scripture say that He is faithful and just to for- 
give us our sins ? ” 

“ An God loveth me, I should not think He 
would have taken my dear daddy away from me,” 
said Submit, with a piteous sob. 

“ Didst ever think, Submit, who gave thee thy 


GRANNY ALLISON TO THE RESCUE. 


163 


clacldy, and put all the love in his and thy heart 
for each other? Was not that a sure token of 
God’s love ? And if God, who knoweth all things, 
who knowest well how thou lovest thy daddy, hath 
yet taken him away, ’t is for some wise purpose 
that thou canst not know now. ‘ When I awake, 
I shall be satisfied,’ ” murmured Granny, to her- 
self rather than to Submit. 

“ Scripture saith, Submit, that God loveth us e’en 
as a father pitieth his children,” continued Granny, 
after a moment’s pause, when her thoughts seemed 
far away. “ Always remember that. Thou art 
never alone or friendless, for thy great Father in 
heaven is ever nigh. But before He can forgive 
thy sins, thou must sincerely repent, and bring 
forth fruits meet for repentance.” 

“ I do repent, but what can I do ? ” asked Sub- 
mit, pondering with softened feeling this new 
thought that possibly God loved even her. 

u Thou must confess to Widow Burnham and to 
Mr. Russell that thou hast lied, and above all, that 
thou hast falsely accused Goodwife Dickinson,” 
said Granny. 

“ I like not to do that,” said Submit. 

“ But thou must. This is thy punishment. 
God doth not punish us, methinks. Every sin 
brings its own retribution with it. But thou art 
worn and exhausted now. First, thou must take 
a composing draught that I will prepare for thee, 


164 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

and go to sleep. I will stay by thee till thou 
wakest.” 

Granny Allison went out into the kitchen, and 
made a tea of saffron and poppy seeds. 

Widow Burnham asked her eagerly, — 

“ How doth the afflicted child carry herself 
now? Hath she seen any more apparitions ? ” 

“ Good neighbor,” replied Granny, regarding 
the widow with the authority of the skilled 
healer, “ the child is not bewitched.” 

“ Think’st thou so ? ” asked the widow, in a 
disappointed tone. 

While it was no doubt inconvenient to have a 
bewitched child in the house, yet it lent a touch of 
dramatic excitement to humdrum living, and gave 
a certain prominence to her house as the centre of 
interest, that was not unwelcome to the widow. 

“ I know it," said Granny. “ Doubtless Satan 
hath tempted her, and she hath sinned grievously. 
The child is but a tender plant, unlike others, and 
she hath many strange fancies. I must tell thee 
plainly, widow, that thou must carry it somewhat 
more gently with her, or thou wilt have a dead or 
distracted child to answer for.” 

“ I have sought but her good,” said the widow, 
“to train her up in the way she should go, that 
when she is old, she may not depart from it." 

“ That which only nourisheth the stout tree, 
crusheth the tender sapling,” said Granny. “I 


GRANNY ALLISON TO THE RESCUE 135 

will talk with thee further on this matter another 
time. Now ’t is necessary that she go to sleep, for 
her nerves are sorely wracked and wrought upon. 
When she waketh, she will have somewhat to say 
unto thee. Give me thy Bible. I would fain 
read to her.” 

The widow approved of this, knowing that 
reading the Scriptures aloud rarely failed to put 
the devil to flight. 

c ✓ 

After Submit had drunk the draught, Granny, 
undoing the clasps of the Geneva Bible with stout 
leathern covers that Widow Burnham’s husband 
had brought from England, read from the quaint, 
black-lettered text the words of the Psalm that has 

i 

comforted so many generations of troubled souls. 

“ The Lorde is my shepheard, I shall not want. 
Hee maketh mee to rest in greene pastures, and 
leadeth mee by the still waters.” 

As Granny’s comfortable voice read on, Submit* s 
breathing grew quieter, and she lay with closed eyes. 

“ Doubtless kindnesse and mercie shall followe 
mee all the dayes of my life, and I shall remaine a 
long season in the house of the Lord.” 

Faintly the last words blended with the rip- 
pling song of a robin, whose notes floated in at 
her window, farther and farther away. Feeling 
dimly in her soul the dawn of a new hope, Submit 
sank into a deep, restful sleep. 


166 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

To return to John and Sam ; their excitement 
over the “ possession ” of Submit Carter did not 
prevent them from hurrying at once to the con- 
stable with the wolfs head, for, to ensure the 
bounty, the head must be fresh. 

Ensign Aaron Cooke, chairman of the towns- 
men, as he laid in John’s hand twenty good 
English shillings, said, — 

“ These vermin have made sad havoc of late 
among our swine, sheep, and calves. It stands 
our youth in hand to be vigilant. The more thou 
canst slay the better, e’en though in truth it con- 
sume great part of the county tax money to pay 
our wolf bounties.” 

Twenty shillings was a large sum for any one in 
those days, especially a boy. It seemed exhaust- 
less wealth to John, and he planned many uses for 
it. He and Sam resolved on a day’s wolf hunting 
the first day they could be spared from work. 

But now they hastened home, eager to tell tid- 
ings sure to create a sensation. 

Hardly had John delivered himself of the tale 
of Submit’s bewitchment, amidst many exclama- 
tions of wonder and awe from his mother, than 
Prudence surprised them by breaking forth into 
loud crying. 

“ What aileth the child ? Art ill ? Tell me at 
once,” cried her mother, alarmed lest Prudence too 
be bewitched. 


GRANNY ALLISON TO THE RESCUE. 


1G7 


“ Nay, nay, but I have sinned sorely, and I fear 
lest Satan ensnare me also,” sobbed Prudence. 
“ When Submit sang and danced on the Pine 
Plain yesterday, I tarried to look upon her, be- 
cause ’twas so pleasing. And I liked to listen 
unto her tales of the devil, too.” 

Deeply alarmed, not knowing how far Submit 
might have carried her dangerous arts, Goodwife 
Ellis hastened to take Prudence up to Chileab 
Smith’s to consult with Goodwife Smith, and 
furthermore, to learn if Hannah had revealed 
aught of these wrong doings. 

They found Hannah also in the agonies of con- 
fession, afraid longer to keep so dangerous a 
secret. Hannah kept nothing back. She had 
secretly been much troubled, and it was a relief 
to unburden herself of all. 

“ I doubt an I be not the chief sinner,” she 
said, “ for I began it by placing the bright wreath 
on my head. Had I not done so, perchance Sub- 
mit had not been tempted to dance, and sing play- 
actors’ songs.” 

“ Many a time have I told thee, Hannah Smith,” 
said her mother, “ that thy vanity and giddiness 
would be thy undoing. Now thou seest that thy 
mother knew best. Methinks,” she said, turning 
to Goodwife Ellis, “ that we should haste to sum- 
mon Mr. Russell, and see if perchance his prayers 
may be effectual to save these erring ones.” 


168 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

Mr. Russell came and prayed long and fervently 
with the two girls, who were greatly sobered and 
downcast, yet experienced a secret feeling of relief 
and safety now that the minister had prayed with 
them. 

66 The Lord hath greatly multiplied signs and 
portents among us of late,” said Mr. Russell, as 
he was about leaving. “ What they portend, we 
know not. One that hath recent letters from Old 
England hath told me that in June last two 
armies were seen fighting in the air, on a Lord’s 
day at even, for three hours or more, by many 
credible persons. And Widow Burnham saw a 
sword of fire last night in the sky over Thomas 
Coleman’s house. I trust it bodeth no ill to that 
godly, ancient man, who hath been somewhat 
valetudinarious of late.” 

That night, at Scripture reading, Hannah was 
made to read aloud the twenty-fourth chapter of 
Isaiah, which she did with many tears, appalled 
by its direful denunciations and threats of destruc- 
tion, all of which, she felt, were about to fall on 
her sinful head. 

The next night, Sam came over to ask Good- 
man Ellis if John might go with him to Spring- 
field on Saturday. 

“ My Grandsire wisheth to send some wheat 
down, to truck with Mr. Pynchon for some blue 
duffie, and other wares. Mr. Pynchon payeth 


GRANNY ALLISON TO THE RESCUE. 169 

sixpence a bushel more for wheat than they of 
Northampton. I can carry but half of the wheat 
on my horse, an couldst thou spare John and thy 
horse to carry the rest, grandfather would be 
grateful for thy civility, he bade me say.” 

Goodman Ellis was pleased at an opportunity 
to make some slight return for his kinsman’s kind- 
ness to him, and replied promptly, — 

“ Yea, John may go with thee. I can hire 
Naushapee for the day, an I cannot manage 
alone.” 

Naushapee was a Hadley Indian who hung 
about the settlement, and could sometimes, when 
pressed by hunger or thirst for liquor, be induced 
to work in the fields for a day or two. 

“Fail not to set forth in ample season, Samuel,” 
said Goodman Ellis, “that thou mayst return ere 
the Sabbath eve begin. But doubtless thy godly 
Grandsire Smith will guard that, for he was ever 
a friend of sober and virtuous living.” 

“ He saith we must set forth ere sunrise,” said 
Sam. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


THE JAUNT TO SPRINGFIELD. 

J OHN’S head was so full of the coming trip that 
he thought of little else. Even dread of 
witchcraft faded before his anticipations ; the 
more easily as it was understood that Submit 
Carter had confessed to Mr. Russell and the 
deacons that all the apparitions she had described 
were false, born only of her own fancy ; and 
especially that all she had said of Goodwife 
Dickinson was a malicious untruth. 

It was said that she had entreated the good men 
with tears to believe her, and that Mr. Russell 
had accepted her confession as sincere, and had 
prayed with and counselled her. And it was 
known that Granny Allison stoutly scouted all 
idea of witchcraft in the case. 

But still many doubted whether this professed 
confession might not be another delusion of Satan, 
one of his many cunning devices to discomfit the 
godly, and clung fondly to their belief in Submit’s 
bewitchment. 

John feared it might rain Saturday, and 
so postpone his pleasure. He was up in the small 


THE JAUNT TO SPRINGFIELD. 171 

hours of the morning to look out his window and 
inspect the weather. 

Above the dewy stillness of the street, where, 
in the dim gray light, John saw only the dark 
forms of horses or cattle scattered here and there, 
still shone the stars, and the fading sickle of the 
old moon hung low in the west. 

“ Not a cloud in sight,” thought John, joyfully. 
“ Ne’er saw I tokens of a fairer day.” 

He was too excited to sleep any more. As soon 
as the gray light of early dawn permitted, he was 
up again, and quickly dressed. Then he counted 
out ten shillings from his precious store, and 
stowed them carefully away in the strong pouch 
hanging from the leathern girdle which belted 
down his doublet. 

Not forgetting the luncheon which his mother 
had prepared for him the night before, and tak- 
ing his trusty snaphance, he slipped as quietly as 
possible out of the house, caught White Bess, 
grazing in the street near by, saddled her, and 
trotted over to Sam’s. Watch, who had quite 
recovered from his fight with the bear, was re- 
solved to go too, and John had to tie him up, 
leaving him tugging at his strap in vain efforts to 
escape, and howling with a loud despair that John 
thought would awaken the whole community. 

Sam was not behindhand. John found him 
strapping a big bag of wheat across his saddle. 


172 the YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

“Here is thy portion of the load,” said Sam, 
bringing another big bag, which the boys fastened 
on John’s saddle across White Bess. 

The grain settled down into the two ends of 
the bags, making them project wide each side of the 
horses, and the boys had to adapt their legs to the 
situation as best as they could. 

However, they were in no mood for complaining, 
as they rode out the south gate of the street, and 
jogged on slowly, as their loads compelled, beside 
the Connecticut, through Fort Meadow, along the 
Springfield road to the south. 

The red rim of the sun was just peeping above 
the eastern hills, dazzling their eyes, and giving the 
mountains’ rocky summits a roseate hue. The 
broad surface of the river, flowing beside them 
with strong yet quiet current, glowed with the 
ruddy dawn that brightened all the sky above. 

“’Twill be a goodly day for our jaunt,” said 
Sam. Then, looking as they rode along at the 
familiar fields so well acquainted with his hoe, 
with the feeling of one who has, for once, the 
better of his enemy, he said, — 

“ No work to-day, John. I know ’t is lazy not 
to love work, and, in truth, I mind it not o’er- 
much. Yet, nevertheless, it maketli me glad that 
we have this whole day free. Art not glad to go on 
this jaunt ? ” 

“In troth I am,” said John, heartily. “And 


THE JAUNT TO SPRINGFIELD. 173 

I shall see the country roundabout, new to me. 
How far is it to Springfield?” 

“ About sixteen miles as the crow flies,” said 
Sam, “ but our path is more devious.” 

“ Hast e’er been there ? Art sure thou canst 
find the way ?” asked John. 

“ I have been there only once, and that was 
two years since,” said Sam; “ but I can hardly miss 
the path, for there is none other to the southward, 
and ’t is oft travelled. The Northampton folk go 
chiefly this way to Springfield and Windsor, though 
of late some take the Waranoake path.” 

“ Is Springfield a large settlement ? ” asked 
John. 

“ Yea, ’t is the largest settlement on the Con- 
necticut, or in all this region, save Hartford. 
It hath nigh a hundred houses, on both sides the 
river.” 

The path now, to avoid the swampy land in 
parts of Hockanum meadow, left the river, and 
ran through the woods on the lower slope of Mount 
Holyoke. 

“ Look back, John,” said Sam, as they stopped 
to rest their horses at top of a steep, rocky 
declivity on the mountain side. “ Those are the 
last houses thou wilt see till we reach Springfield. 
’Tis wilderness all the way.” 

Through a gap in the trees they had a glimpse 
of Hadley and its meadows, the winding river, 


174 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

the distant hills to the north, and the woods 
which stretched to Canada, unbroken save by the 
little settlements at Deerfield and Northfield. 

Now their path plunged down into the forest 
that lay between them and Springfield. The boys 
saw much small game : squirrels scampering across 
their path and vanishing up trees, foxes and 
rabbits that disappeared at the tread of horses’ 
feet and the sound of human voices ; bat felt it 
not worth while to waste lead on these. They 
must press on. On the homeward way they might 
pick up some game, perhaps. 

Presently they came to a spot where the path 
divided. Sam was perplexed. 

“ I know not which is the Springfield path,” he 
said, “ but I judge ’t is safe to stick to the river. 
The right hand pathway should be it, methinks.” 

The boys had not ridden far on this path when 
the roar of falling water began to be heard. 

“How loudly the river roareth ! ” said Sam. “ I 
wonder what causeth its turmoil.” 

His doubts were soon solved, for the path came 
out of the woods and ended abruptly on the bank 
of the river. An impressive sight was before 
them : the Connecticut dashing and foaming down 
great rocks in solitary grandeur, nothing in sight 
but the silent forest around, the sky overhead, and 
the two boys on horseback. 

“ Verily these be the great falls of the Con- 


THE JAUNT TO SPRINGFIELD. 175 

necticut ! ” said Sam. 66 1 have oft heard of them, 
but ne’er seen them before.” 

As he spoke, an Indian emerged from the woods 
on the opposite bank of the river. His quick eye 
at once observed the boys, and he made a gesture 
signifying friendliness. In one hand he held a 
long stick whose end was pointed with a sharp 
flint spear-head. 

He stepped deftly from one bare rock to 
another projecting from the foaming falls, until he 
reached the point where the main current swirled 
swiftly over. Here he stopped, and stood like 
a statue in the midst of the roaring water, his eyes 
intently fixed upon it. 

“ What meanetli this ? What seeketh he ? ” asked 
John, full of interest at a sight so novel to him. 

“ Yon is Squiskhegan, a Northampton Indian,’’ 
said Sam. “ He seeketh to spear a sturgeon, 
mayhap, thinking the fish will already be going 
down to the sea. But we must on, and take the 
other path.” 

“ I would fain tarry awhile and watch Squisk- 
hegan spear a sturgeon,” said John. 

“ I dare not tarry now,” said Sam. “ The sun 
mounteth high. Next spring perchance our fathers 
will come down to the fishing, and bring us. There 
is great sport fishing at the falls in the spring time. 
The shad and salmon come up from the sea in vast 
numbers then.” 


176 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

The boys regained the Springfield path, and 
journeyed slowly southward. The sun had now 
mounted so high above the forest trees, that Sam 
said, as they were fording a large stream, — 

“ ’T is time now, methinks, that we eat our 
luncheon and rest our horses. The bank of this 
brook will be a good place to stop.” 

“I feel as empty as a drum,” said John, “ and 
would gladly be munching.” 

The horses were unloaded and watered from the 
brook, and then turned loose to graze on its mar- 
gin, while the boys lightened not a little the 
luncheons, put up by mothers who knew the capa- 
cities of a growing boy’s appetite. The coarse 
bread, the smoked fish and cold boiled pork, were 
eaten with a healthy hunger, after the early rising 
and long ride in the fresh air. Their dessert the 
boys gathered from the huckleberry bushes, which 
grew in profusion each side the path. 

Busy picking and eating, they strayed farther 
from the path and from each other than they were 
aware. Suddenly Sam was startled by a cry of 
alarm from John. 

“ Sam ! Sam ! Your gun ! Quick ! ” 

Running towards the spot wdience the cry came, 
Sam saw, — what John had but just discovered as 
he rose up from bending over the bushes — a huge, 
reddish-brown, cat-like creature stealthily creeping 
out on a overhanging limb. Its eyes glared with 


THE JAUNT TO SPRINGFIELD. 177 

hunger, its long tail lashed furiously from side to 
side, and it crouched in the act of springing. 

The boys, over confident, in the knowledge of 
the friendliness of the neighboring Indians, had 
carelessly left their guns by the wheat bags on the 
bank of the brook. Sam, who luckily was near 
them, seized his gun. Hardly could he aim it before 
the panther made a flying leap for John. 

John stooped, and the creature went over his 
head. It sprang back into the tree, scrambling 
rapidly up the trunk. Sam fired a ringing shot, 
and the panther tumbled to the ground, where it 
rolled about with terrific screams, half human, 
until another shot from Sam’s gun stretched it out, 
lifeless. 

John looked pale and bewildered. This danger 
had come upon him so suddenly, that he could 
hardly realize it even now, as he stood looking 
down on the bloody form of this dangerous animal, 
lying at full length on the mossy ground before 
him. 

“ What beast is this ? ” he asked. “ I ne’er saw 
aught like it before, and ne’er heard I such a 
scream. It curdled my blood.” 

“ ’Tis a catamount,” said Sam, looking with pride 
on his victim. “ They are not o’er plenty round 
here now.” 

“ In truth, I am glad to hear that,” said John. 

“ I ’d not care to meet one often.” 

12 


178 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

“ Sometimes we hear them screeching over on 
the mountains/’ said Sam. “ Some call them lions. 
They are dangerous beasts. ’T is lucky I happened 
to be so near the guns. He is a huge fellow, four 
feet and a half long, I ’ll warrant. Doubtless he 
must have failed to catch a deer, and was starving, 
or he would hardly have attacked us.” 

“ Shalt take his head for the bounty?” asked 
John. 

“I want both his head and his skin,” said Sam. 
u ’Tis not every day one can bag a catamount. 
But I must needs leave him here till we return, 
and take my chances. We must ride on now, for 
the sun mounteth high, and we have yet some 
distance to journey.” 

John was no coward, but his nerves had received 
a shock. Often did he cast his eyes upward with 
a sudden start, when some thicklv leaved branch 
above him quivered in the breeze, realizing the 
possibility of dangers hitherto undreamed of in the 
wild wood, and he rode on more soberly. 

When they reached a small river tumbling down 
over rocks in modest imitation of the great falls 
of the Connecticut, as they rode through it at the 
ford below the rapids, where the stream rippled, 
shallow and clear, over a stony bottom, Sam said : 

“ John, cheer up. We cannot be far from 
Springfield. This must be the place the Indians 
call Scanunganunk, and this river the Chicopee, as 


THE JAUNT TO SPRINGFIELD. 


179 


they call it in their heathen tongue. We shall 
reach Springfield settlement an hour before high 
noon.” 

“ A speedy trip,” said John. 

It was something over an hour ere the path 
emerged from the woods, and passed through the 
gate of the fence surrounding the thriving young 
settlement of Springfield. John looked about with 
great interest on this place, of which he had heard 
so much, as he and Sam rode through the gate. 

He saw a row of houses scattered along be- 
tween the one grassy street and the river’s bank. 
Across the street from the houses was a meadow, 
evidently portioned among the settlers, as it was 
divided by mere-stones, and checkered with patches 
of divers colored crops, — rye, corn, wheat, and 
flax. Beyond the meadow rose quite a high hill, 
thickly wooded with primeval forest. Across the 
broad river they saw other meadows stretching 
out, also divided into patches by various growing 
crops. Two or three canoes were crossing the 
river, bringing home some of the planters for 
their dinners. 

Some of the houses were built of logs, others 
were frame houses two stories high in front, the 
long roofs sloping down to one story in the rear. 

John’s attention was at once attracted to a 
stately two-story brick house with high pitched 
roof, whose many windows set with diamond- 


180 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

paned, leaded glass, sparkled in the sun. A pro- 
jecting porch in front rising to the second story, 
added to the imposing appearance of this house. 

“ What great mansion may yon be, so stately 
and grand above all others ? ” asked John. 

“’Tis the mansion of Mr. John Pynchon, with 
whom we are to deal,” said Sam. u ’Tis built 
so strongly that ’twill serve for a fort, an need 
be.” 

“ ’T is much like a great nobleman’s house,” 
said John. “ There be few houses so grand, e’en 
in Boston. Master Pynchon must be a man of 
fortune.” 

“ Thou mayst well say that,” said Sam. “ He 
is one of the foremost men in the Massachusetts 
Colony. His father, Mr. William Pynchon, was 
the founder of the settlement. He came hither 
from Roxbury about forty years since to begin it, 
when there was none other settlement in all the 
Colony beyond the Bay. He was a mighty 
power. But e’en so great an one as he fell under 
the censure of the General Court, for a book 
which he was moved to write, called ‘ The Meri- 
torious Price of Man’s Redemption.’ I’ve oft 
heard my grandsire lament that a man so godly 
and great as Mr. Pynchon should have been led 
away by Satan to write this book against the 
nature of the atonement. He was so sore about 
the matter that he returned to England to dwell. 


THE JAUNT TO SPRINGFIELD. 


181 


But his son John remained in the settlement that 
his father had begun. He hath control of the 
trading for all the region roundabout, and carrieth 

O O y 

on much traffic with the Indians.” 

The boys having tied their horses now entered 
the trading-house of Mr. Pynchon. 


CHAPTER XI Y. 


SHOPPING IN SPRINGFIELD. 

T HE boys found Mr. Pynchon engaged in 
dealing with several Indians who were 
laden with huge packs of skins of the beaver, 
otter, fox, marten, mink, and wild cat, the pro- 
ducts of their hunting in the woods far to the 
north, which they had brought down the Con- 
necticut in their canoes, to truck with John 
Pynchon. He paid them partly in strings of 
white wampum, partly in barter. 

One old sachem gave a satisfied grunt as he 
put on a blue coat and waistcoat, for which 
he had just traded five fathoms" worth of furs. 
Another lugged away a big kettle, doomed to 
swing over camp-fires in the forests by New 
Hampshire lakes. 

Another took a clumsy iron hoe, to replace the 
clam-shell tool with which his squaw hoed the 
corn. Yet another was vastly pleased with a 
strip of red shag cotton and a knife. Several 
took pipes and tobacco in part exchange for their 
bundles of skins. 


SHOPPING IN SPRINGFIELD. 


183 


The boys particularly noticed one tall Indian, 
with fierce, bright eyes, who said with a deter- 
mined air, — 

“Umpanchala buy gun,” pointing to some snap- 
hances of latest fashion suspended from the beams 
overhead. “ Umpanchala want gun and powder. 
He shoot deer from afar, like white man. White 
man’s gun has long arm.” 

“ Nay, not so, Umpanchala,” said Mr. Pynchon, 
firmly. “ Thou knowest well that the Great 
Father over the ocean will not suffer me to sell 
firearms to my Indian brother.” 

Umpanchala glared at Mr. Pynchon with a 
dark, fierce look that made the boys feel uneasy. 
He bought two long, sharp knives, took the bal- 
ance due him in wampum, and left without further 
words. 

While Sam showed Mr. Pynchon his grand- 
father’s order for the articles wanted, and while 
Mr. Pynchon had the wheat measured, and then 
cut the dowlas, the holland, the blue duffle, and 
the sad-colored serge which the order called for, 
John looked about the trading-house. 

It was a low store-room, with heavv beams 
across the ceiling, and, though large, much dark- 
ened and cumbered by the merchandise piled high 
on all sides. Evidently it was a busy place, the 
centre of much traffic. Huge piles of skins cum- 
bered the floor, which an assistant was busily 


184 the YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

packing into hogsheads, to be shipped down the 
river, around to the Bay, and thence to England. 

Another clerk was measuring bushels of loose 
shell beads, lately come up the river from Hart- 
ford ; the beads used for wampum, made from 
sea-shells by the Indians on Long Island. 

Two women were dickering with this clerk 
over sundry measures of the beads, which they were 
about taking home to string for Mr. Pynchon. 

“ What doth good Mr. Pynchon allow now for 
stringing the wampum, Richard Sykes?” asked 
one of the women. 

“ He payeth three ha’pence for stringing a 
fathom six feet long,” said the clerk, “ and a 
goodly price it is.” 

“ Methinks ’t is but little,” said the woman. 
“ I am half a mind not to take it at that rate.” 

“Bethink thee,” said her companion, “ that it 
serveth to keep the children from idleness. ’Tis 
easy work, and they earn some pence, when other- 
wise Satan might tempt them to sin. Satan 
loveth naught so well as your idler.” 

“ Thou speakest words of truth and soberness,” 
said the first speaker. “I’ll e’en take half a 
measure of the beads, Richard Sykes.” 

John’s roving eyes detected on one of the 
crowded shelves some rare objects, the like of 
which he had thought was not in this country. 
These were two wooden dolls, with heads rudely 


I 


SHOPPING IN SPRINGFIELD. 185 

cut and painted in a distant resemblance to that 
of the human being. Mr. Pynchon had recently 
received them from London in his last consign- 
ment of goods, and had felt serious doubts of his 
correspondent’s wisdom, when he came upon them. 

“ How Prudence would leap for joy, an I should 
carry her one of those poppets ! ” thought John. 

He had never felt so rich in his life, as with 
ten shillings of his own in his pocket to spend as 
he pleased. Most of it was going for lead and 
moulds, wherewith he would mould his own shot 
and bullets. But John, who had a kind and 
generous heart, meant to take home a mould for 
spoons which he saw, and pewter to run in it, as 
a gift to his mother ; and now the thought of 
Prudence’s surprise and delight should he take 
her a doll so strongly tempted him, that finally 
he actually spent one shilling for the smaller of 
the twain ornamenting Mr. Pynchon’ s shelves, 
though secretly doubtful whether his parents would 
approve of this expenditure. 

Sam could not contain his astonishment at this 
prodigal waste of money. 

“John,” said he, “ I must say that I wonder at 
thee, to waste a good shilling on a useless poppet. 
Shillings grow not on the bushes hereabouts, as 
thou wilt soon learn.” 

“ I care not to spend all my money for myself,” 
said John. “ Prudence’s chief friend in England, 


186 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

Rose Hathaway, had one of these poppets, and 
Prudence hath sorely longed for one. Little maids, 
thou knowest, delight in foolish gewgaws that lads 
care naught for.” 

66 ’T is thy money,” said Sam, unconvinced. 
“ Thou canst spend it as thou seest fit.” 

John knew that Sam thought him both foolish 
and extravagant. But he carried the parcel 
wrapped in coarse gray paper carefully, with a 
warm glow at his heart, as he fancied his sister’s 
joy when he should give her the poppet. 

Much to the boys’ embarrassment, Mr. Pynchon, 
wishing to show civility to Lieutenant Smith’s 
grandson, said, — 

“ Come ye both home with me to dinner. ’T is 
a wearisome jaunt from Pladley when the horses 
are laden with country goods, and a hot dinner 
will doubtless refresh ye. Mistress Pynchon and 
her handmaidens have ever ample cheer prepared 
for travellers, of whom we see many.” 

The boys were in a strait between awe of ven- 
turing to the stately mansion to dine, and a crav- 
ing for the good dinner. Finally, Mr. Pynchon’s 
cordial urgency and hunger triumphed over diffi- 
dence, and they went, escorted by Mr. Pynchon’s 
negro slave, Roco, to whom Mr. Pynchon said, — 

“ Tell thy mistress, Roco, that these be two 
youths from Hadley who will dine with us to- 
day.” 


SHOPPING IN SPRINGFIELD. 


187 


Safely out of his master’s hearing, Roco, with 
a friendly grin that showed his white teeth, con- 
fided to Sam, — 

“ Mighty fine dinner to-day, sah, at the house,” 
smacking his lips in a manner to whet the boys’ 
anticipations. 

They felt that Roco had spoken whereof he 
knew, when they ate first of the hot suet pudding, 
sweetened with that rare dainty, sugar, which Mr. 
Pynchon imported direct from Barbadoes, which 
pudding good Mistress Pynchon piled high on the 
plates of her shy guests ; and secondly the deli- 
cious fried venison, great quantities of which meat 
Mr. Pynchon was constantly taking, in his deal- 
ings with the Indians. There were vegetables in 
plenty too, and fine wheaten bread. 

In spite of more elegance than they had ever 
seen, the boys managed to eat a hearty dinner, 
and then went through the ordeal of making their 
adieux and thanks to Mistress Pynchon, and es- 
caped into the outdoor air. They failed not to 
tell their mothers afterwards that Mistress 
Pynchon had several silver spoons on her table, 
a cloth of fine linen, and a polished pewter 
flagon for the beer that shone like burnished 

O 

silver. 

“We must give the horses somewhat longer 
rest,” said Sam. “Let us go down to the wharf. 
In truth, I feel not o’er eager for riding so soon 


188 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

after Mistress Pynchon’s noble dinner. What a 
savory treat it was ! ” 

“ Yea,” said John, heartily, “ ’t was a feast of 
fatness. Ne’er tasted I aught so toothsome as 
that pudding. I fear I ate immoderately, all was 
so savory, and I so sharp, after our long ride.” 

The boys sat lazily awhile, looking with pleasure 
on the novel scenes at the wharf, where there 
was much activity. Some of the Indians they had 
seen in the trading-house were setting off in their 
canoes for their northern homes ; planters were 
going over to the meadows west of the river to 
their afternoon work ; and Mr. Pynchon’s slaves, 
superintended by some of his clerks, were loading 
large boats with skins, wheat, etc., to go down the 
river to the point where they could be transferred 
to pinnaces bound for the Bay. 

The busy scene gave Sam a vague longing to 
travel, and see somewhat more of the outside 
world. 

“ I would I too were going down the river,” he 
said, as one of the large boats put off. “ I would 
gladly go around to the Bay, and e’en cross the 
ocean.” 

“ An thou hadst lately had a two months’ 
voyage, as I have,” said John, u thou wouldst be 
well content on shore.” 

When the sluggishness of their dinner had 
somewhat worn away, the boys rambled about the 


SHOPPING IN SPRINGTFIELD. 


189 


street, down Meeting House Lane, back of the 
meeting house into the burying ground on the 
bank of the broad river, a lovely and peaceful 
resting-place for the dead. They were attracted 
by the unusual sight of some monuments. The 
few graves in Hadley burying ground were as yet 
unmarked. 

One seemed to the boys most imposing ; its in- 
scription John read aloud, — 

“ Here lyeth ye body of Mari, 

YE WIFE OF ELIZUR HOLYOKE, 

who died October 26 , 1657 . 

Shee yt lyes here was while she stood 
A very glory of womanhood ; 

Even here was sowne most pretious dust, 

Which surely shall rise with tjie just.” 

“ That stone was doubtless brought from Old 

O 

England,” said Sam. “ Lieutenant Holyoke is one 
of the foremost men in these parts. Our great 
mountain is called from him.” 

“ But tell me, Sam,” said John, “ why hath this 
meeting house two towers?” 

“ One is for the bell,” said Sam ; “ the other is 
a watch tower, where the watch may stand in 
time of war and keep sharp lookout o’er the 
meadows, lest the savages fall upon the men at 
work there, unawares.” 

“ I looked not to see such grandeur in the 
wilderness as I have seen to-day,” said John. 


190 the YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

“ But thinkest not, Sam, ’t is time we were riding 
homewards ? Thou know’st ’t is Saturday after- 
noon.'’ 

“ Have no fears,” said Sam. “ Our horses will 
travel speedily, being not so heavy laden, and 
knowing that they go towards home.” 

The boys, having carefully fastened their pur- 
chases to their saddles, trotted out of Springfield 
gate to the north as fast as the rough path permitted, 
and made good headway as far as the Chicopee 
Kiver. 

But, in fording this stream, White Bess stumbled 
and fell on her knees, pitching John over her head 
into the water. 

Sam, who had already ridden up the farther 
bank, heard the splash and turned in his saddle, 
to see the dripping John gathering himself up, rais- 
ing his gun on high with one hand, and with the 
other holding tight Bess’s bridle, lest she get away. 

“ Art hurt, John?” asked Sam, dismounting 
and coming to his cousin’s aid. 

“ Nay,” said John. “ Verily ’t is by God’s 
mercy that I broke not my neck in that somer- 
sault ! I hope my snaphance and the poppet did 
not get wet.” 

Leading White Bess up out of the stream, he 
discovered that she had broken the crouper in her 
fall, and that her knee was grazed. 

“ And she hath cast a shoe somewhere on our 


SHOPPING IN SPRINGFIELD. 


191 


journey, from one of her forefeet,” said John. 
“ I had not noticed that. Verily an unlucky chap- 
ter of accidents, here in the forest ! ” 

“ ’T is no marvel she stumbled,” said Sam. 
“ Doubtless she stepped on a stone with that foot. 
Perchance we can mend the crouper with one of 
thy stirrup leathers.” 

This the boys contrived to do, but it took time ; 
and John had to dry and rub his gun, which, in 
spite of his care, had been somewhat splashed in 
his downfall. 

At length they again set forth, but now were 
obliged to travel slowly, as John’s horse began to 
limp on the shoeless foot. When they neared the 
spot where they had left the dead panther, half a 
dozen wolves ran away at their approach. Sam 
shot at them, but the wolves were too quick for 
him. 

u Doubtless the rogues are at my panther,” he 
said. “ So they have left me the head, they are 
welcome to the rest.” 

But, drawing nearer, they found that some one 
had saved Sam trouble by not only cutting off the 
head, but also skinning the panther, and the wolves 
had already half devoured the carcass. 

u Doubtless Squiskhegan hath my bounty money 
rattling in his pouch long ere this,” said Sam. 
“ No Indian is o’er honest. I ’m loath to lose my 
bounty, but I could not help it. The panther was 


192 the YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

shot within Hadley hounds, so ’t would have been 
useless to take the head to Springfield.” 

There was a lovely sunset that night. The sun 
sank from sight in a blaze of glory, and a brilliant 
afterglow lit up the western sky with a solemn 
radiance, as if the gates of heaven had swung ajar 
for an instant, revealing to mortals a brief fore- 
glimpse of the inconceivable glories beyond. The 
birds, twittering their evening songs, seemed al- 
readv to utter more subdued notes, as if aware that 
the Sabbath had begun. 

Little did the anxious boys note the glories of 
the sunset sky as they pressed on up Fort Meadow, 
towards the south gate of the settlement. 

“ Ride thou on speedily, Sam,” said John, as 
they neared the south gate into Hadley street. 
“ Delay no longer for my lame mare. I trow, 
do our best, we shall be soundly rated for our 
tardy home coming, though verily ’t is hardly 
our fault.” 

Sam, keenly realizing the importance of reach- 
ing home as quickly as possible, put his horse to 
its best pace up the deserted street, where Sabbath 
quiet already reigned. He galloped on, his tired 
horse not half keeping pace with his impatience, 
and was nearing home, when suddenly a voice be- 
hind him hailed him in a stern tone of command : 

“ Halt, Samuel Smith ! ” 

Sam stopped, and saw to his dismay Stephen 


SHOPPING IN SPRINGFIELD. 193 

Ferry, the constable, bearing his long black staff 
tipped with brass. 

“ I arrest thee, Samuel Smith,” said the consta- 
ble, “ for transgressing our laws by Inordinate 
Galloping on the Eve of the Lord’s Day. I looked 
not to find a Sabbath Breaker in the son of the 
godly Philip Smith, or among the descendants 
of thy grave and judicious Grandsire, who, me- 
thinks, only taketh New England in his way to 
heaven.” 

Sam meekly explained the cause of his riding so 
late and so fast, but Constable Ferry would not 
relent. 

“ Ungodliness creepeth in like a flood in our 
midst,” he said. “ It standeth in hand those in 
authority not to wink at iniquity, e’en in high 
places. An example must be made.” 

But he consented to accompany Sam home, where 
his father paid the fine necessary to release him, 
and further promised Constable Ferry to suitably 
admonish his son. 

“ I doubt not, Samuel,” said his father, when 
the constable had departed, “that thou and John 
loitered and idled unduly in Springfield, or thou 
hadst not been so late, and brought this condem- 
nation on thine head.” 

“ Let the boy have his supper now,” said his 
mother. “ In truth, it gladdens me that naught 

worse hath happened to him. My heart was heavy 

13 


194 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

lest some dire disaster might have befallen him in 
the wilderness betwixt here and Springfield.” 

“ Speak not lightly, good wife, of Sabbath break- 
ins;,” said her husband. “ What worse could 

O" 

happen to him than breaking the fourth command- 
ment ? After thy supper, Samuel, I will hear thee 
say that portion of the catechism pertaining to the 
fourth commandment, and will reason with thee 
thereon.” 

John, meantime, was riding slowly up the street 
on his tired, lame horse, wondering if his excuses 
would be accepted at home. Passing the house of 
Mr. Russell, he glanced up at it, hoping devoutly 
that the minister would not see him riding so late 
Saturday night. It was not likely, for doubtless 
he was now at prayer, preparing himself for the 
Sabbath. 

The red light of the afterglow still shone on the 
window panes of the upper windows, and suddenly, 
to his fright, at one of these same upper windows, 
John saw plainly the face of the mysterious stran- 
ger, of whom he had not lately thought, but whose 
striking visage he could never forget. 

The gaze of the face was fastened with a wist- 
ful look on the sunset sky, as of one lost in sad 
revery. Suddenly the form of the moving horse- 
man below in the quiet, darkening street, where 
twilight shadows already began to settle heavily, 
seemed to attract its notice, and it disappeared. 


SHOPPING IN SPRINGFIELD. 


195 


“’Tis passing strange/' thought the startled 
John. “ I certainly saw it, as clearly as e’er I 
saw my own father’s face. And now ’t is gone. 
I like it not. Belike it betokens some dire calam- 
ity to Hadley. We look not for magic arts under 
the roof of our godly Mr. Russell. Yet Satan 
hateth the saints, and ever seeketh to drag them 
down to destruction. Perchance Goody Webster 
hath some hand in this matter. I know not if I 
should speak to my father of this apparition or 
not.” 

John was careful to keep on the opposite side of 
the wide street from Goody Webster’s house, and 
felt relieved and safe when at last he dismounted 
at his father’s door. 

Goodman Ellis, knowing that many possibilities 
of danger lurked in the wilderness, had begun to 
feel a real anxiety lest some accident had befallen 
John, and was so rejoiced to have him arrive 
safely, having met no more serious disaster than 
the broken crouper and lamed horse, that he 
was more lenient in his rebukes than John had 
dared hope. He listened with complacency to the 
account of John’s dining with so great a man as 
Mr. Pynchon, though he felt it his duty to testify, 
on hearing of the pudding, the silver and fine 
linen, and the slaves, — 

“ Those in high places should beware how they 
set an example of sinful, luxurious living. We 


196 the YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

came not here into the wilderness for eating and 
drinking.” 

John now ventured to display his purchases. 
Having given his mother her mould and pewter 
for spoons, he handed the gray bundle to Prudence, 
saying,— 

“ And here is somewhat for thee too, Pruda, 
from Springfield.” 

Prudence was surprised, for presents were rare 
and unexpected. She wondered much what it 
could be. 

“It feeleth like a poppet,” she said, as she 
fumbled in her excitement at the string, “ but I 
know well it could not be that. Oh, it is ! It is ! 
A true poppet ! Oh, how I thank thee, John. 
’T is a finer one far than Rose Hathaway’s. Is ’t 
verily mine, John ? ” 

“’Tis verily thine,” said John, smiling at his 
sister s joy, while Abigail, in the trying fashion of 
little sisters, pulled on Prudence's linsey woolsey 
gown, begging, — 

“ Let me take the pretty poppet, I want the 
poppet.” 

“ Thou mayst hold her for one moment in thine 
arms, Abigail, an thou wilt use great care,” said 
Prudence. When John had been so generous to 
her, ought she not to be generous to her little 
sister ? 

Goodman Ellis did not share the children’s 


SHOPPING IN SPRINGFIELD. 197 

delight in the wooden poppet, but gazed frown- 
ingly upon it. 

“Methinks,” he said, “ this savoreth of graven 
images and pagan idols. I like it not. 'T was an 
exceeding spendthriftness on thy part, my son, 
which amazeth me. We may see sore straits ere 
the coming winter be o’erpassed. ’T is now clear 
to me, John, that 't was thy wastefulness and 
lightinindedness that sore displeased the Lord, 
causing Him to send disasters upon thee in token 
of His anger. ’T is of His mercy that thou hast 
escaped so lightly.” 

John’s face fell, and Prudence was ready to 
burst into tears, while Abigail hugged the dear 
poppet tightly, fearing lest she be deprived of it. 

Goodwife Ellis, with a mother’s sympathy for 
her children’s joy, and softened too, by the unex- 
pected and most acceptable gift of the pewter and 
mould, showing so much generosity on the part of 
her son, said gently, — 

“ Father, bear not too hardly on our son. He 
hath a kindly heart and meaneth well, e’en if 
somewhat lacking in judgment. Thou canst not 
look for a man’s head on a boy’s shoulders. Pru- 
dence loveth not her needle o’er well, and me- 
thinks ’t will help teach her to sew, to make 
clothing for her poppet. That can be her treat 
when she worketh diligently. ’T will incite her 
in ways of industry.” 


198 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

“She should work because ’tis her duty,” said 
the good man, “ not from a vain love of rewards.” 

“ Give me the poppet now, Prudence,” said 
her mother. “ I will e’en put it away, for the 
Sabbath hath begun.” 

Prudence knew there was no use in objecting to 
this decree. She must give up the precious pop- 
pet, and not see her again before Monday. 

“ Let us at once to our evening Scripture read- 
ing and prayer,” said Goodman Ellis. “ Discourse 
of vain and unprofitable trifles hath kept us too 
long from this sacred duty.” 

In the midst of the psalm singing, came an 
imperative rap at the door. 

“ What roisterer may this be, disturbing the 
peace on Sabbath Eve?” asked Goodman Ellis, in 
stern displeasure. 

Opening the door, lo, there stood Constable 
Ferry, with his black staff of office. 

“ Goodman Ellis,” he said sternly, “ thy son, 
riding after shutting in on the Eve of the 
Sabbath, hath left the south gate of the settle- 
ment open. The fine for this misdemeanor is, 
as thou knowest, two shillings and sixpence.” 

There was no help for it : John had to go up- 
stairs and reluctantly bring down that sum from 
what was left of his wolf bounty. In his late- 
ness and hurry, he had forgotten to close the gate 
behind him. 


SHOPPING IN SPRINGFIELD. 


199 


His father made some apology to Stephen Ferry, 
while commending his vigilance and faithfulness. 

“ Our youth would carry things with a high 
hand, I trow, were I not vigilant,” said the 
constable. 

When he had gone, Goodman Ellis said to 
John, — 

“ Thou seest, John, ’t is e’en as I told thee. 
The Lord’s eye is never shut, and His face is ever 
against them that do evil. Many sorrows shall 
be to the wicked. Of His mercy, thou hast been 
punished but slightly this time for thy light- 
mindedness. But have a care lest thou provoke 
Him to greater anger.” 

John went to bed, lame and tired in body, and 
also rather crushed and sober in spirit. But as he 
entered his room, Prudence, opening her door 
from the chamber beyond, thrust out her head 
and whispered softly, joy still beaming in her 
face, — 

“John, thou wast so kind. I cannot thank 
thee enough. I ’ll ne’er forget it. I will do any- 
thing thou wishest me to, e’en to helping thee 
dress thy fish, and skin thy muskrats. I verily 
will, John.” 

John could not help feeling warmed and com- 
forted within, although he had some misgivings 
that this might be a sinful feeling, to which he 
ought not to give any countenance. 


200 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

All day Sunday, through the long services, in 
fancy Prudence hugged the poppet to her heart, 
and the joy of its possession shone in her face. 
She contrived to find a chance to whisper to her 
cousin Hannah and to Priscilla a hint of the 
wonderful new treasure. 

So overflowing was she with happiness, that 
she was even tempted to tell Submit about the 
poppet ; Submit, whose sober little face looked 
wistfully across at Prudence from the shadow of 
the self-righteous Widow Burnham. 

But Prudence well knew that it would not do 
for her even to whisper to Submit. Goodwife 
Ellis, like the other prudent mothers, had strictly 
admonished her daughter that she must hereafter 
have nothing to do with the bewitched child. 
The children hardly needed this caution, but 
shunned Submit of their own accord. 


CHAPTER XV. 


SUBMIT AND THE POPPET. 

FTER Submit’s confession, Granny Allison, 



l\ who had come to feel a strong interest in 
the friendless child, had a long talk with her, urg- 
ing her to be a good girl henceforth, especially to 
deceive no more. 

u I would I could live with thee, Granny, 
and be thy bound girl,” said Submit. “ ’T would 
be easy then to be good, methinks. Widow 
Burnham careth naught for me. She is cruel and 
hard. I care not to live, and I must needs dwell 
always with her.” 

“ Thou art bound to her, Submit, and must dwell 
with and serve her till thou art of age. Tell me 
truly,” said Granny, “ didst e’er try heartily to 
please the widow, and gain her good will ? ” 

“ Nay, in truth, not o’er much,” said Submit, 
rather shamefacedly. 

“ Perchance, shouldst thou try that plan, thy 
lot might be easier. Those who kick against the 
pricks ever wound themselves. Believe what I 
tell thee, that God, the Father of the fatherless, 


202 the young puritans OF OLD HADLEY. 

loveth and watcheth o’er thee. He will be pleased 
with thy faithfulness, whether Widow Burnham 
noticeth it or not. If thou doest thy duty as 
in His sight, He will reward thee in ways thou 
canst not foresee. Doth not Scripture say, ‘ Trust 
in the Lord and do good , and thou shalt dwell 
in the land ’ ? Take that for thy motto, Submit. 
Try each day to do what is well pleasing in the 
sight of the Lord.” 

“ I will try, Granny,” said Submit, “ though I 
doubt an it be not useless.” 

“ And I will befriend thee as opportunity 
serveth,” added Granny. 66 ’T is many a weary 
year since God took away my own sweet little 
daughter into His heavenly places of peace, because, 
methinks, she was o’er pure and gentle for this 
world of sin and trouble. Her little body hath 
lain these many years under the churchyard 
daisies in Old England. Yet still my empty heart 
hath a warm nook for all children for her dear 
sake. Thou canst tell me all thy troubles. I 
will ever gladly help thee.” 

This promise of friendliness comforted Submit 
most of all. God was so far away, on His mysterious 
throne high above the sky, so easily angered, and 
His wrath so terrible. But friendly Granny 
Allison was close by. Submit could see her 
kindly face, and grasp her warm hand, and pour 
out all her troubles safely to her. 


SUBMIT AND THE POPPET. 


203 


Granny Allison’s advice, combined with some 
awe and doubt still lingering in her mind about 
Submit’ s bewitchment, caused Widow Burnham to 
task her less heavity, and, above all, to cease 
beating her. Granny had said that she could 
not be answerable for the consequences, were a child 
of Submit’s temperament beaten. Indeed, it 
seemed to the widow that since her bewitchment 
Submit was changed. 

She expressed her sense of this change to 
Granny Allison one day, when that good woman 
dropped into the widow’s, as she did more 
frequently of late, although now busier than ever. 
The recent death of Dr. Westcarr had left her the 
only person practising the art of healing in the 
community. If a surgeon were needed, one must 
be brought from Connecticut. For the rest, 
Granny had sole charge of the health of Hadley. 

“ How fareth Goodman Coleman to-day ? ” asked 
the widow. 

“ Very low and languishing,” replied Granny. 
“ My herbs lack potency in his case. Methinks 
the good man is not long for this world. How 
doth Submit now ? ” 

• “ I know not what aileth the child since her 
bewitchment,” replied the widow. “ I always 
mistrusted she could be quick and handy, did 
she so will ; but she was ever so rebellious and 
stiff-necked, she was in very truth a thorn in my 


204 the young puritans OF OLD HADLEY. 

side. Had I not beaten her soundly and oft, I 
could have gotten naught out of her. But now 
she seemeth to work of her own free will, almost 
like a woman. Sometimes I doubt whether she 
hath not aid from the powers of evil, she turneth 
off her tasks so handily for a child.” 

“ Stuff and nonsense ! ” exclaimed Granny. 
“ But tell me, gossip, dost ever praise her ? ” 

“ Nay, verily,” said the widow, looking surprised. 
“ Praise is unprofitable for youth, and tendeth to 
vanity and conceit. An I chide her not, 't is 
enough, methinks.” 

“ A colt runneth swifter to a measure of oats 
than to a whip,” said Granny. “ An she doeth well 
and please th thee, thou shouldst tell her so. Kind 
words cost but a little breath, and yet they lighten 
the road. How seemeth her health now ? ” 

“ I doubt an she ought not to take Physic,” 
said the widow. “ She looketh pale and pining, 
and eateth not so much as a bird would peck.” 

“ Dost give her leave to play now and then 
with the other children after her tasks are well 
done?” asked Granny. 

66 1 trow not. I am not one to favor idleness in 
youth, especially in a bound girl,” said the widow, 
with prim self-satisfaction. “ When her tasks about 
the house are done, she can rest herself by sitting 
to knit. Moreover, thou knowest since her be- 
witchment the other children shun her.” 


SUBMIT AND THE POPPET. 


205 


“ ’T is as natural for children to frisk about as 
for young lambs or colts,” said Granny. “ That 
child’s blood will be on thy head, widow, an she 
die. And thou canst ne’er raise her, unless thou 
sufferest her to play sometimes. Mark my words, 
widow ; she will work all the better for it. 
Thou ’It lose nothing in the end by following my 
advice.” 

“ Perchance I will e’en try it since thou urgest 
it so strongly,” said the widow, half convinced by 
Granny’s earnestness. “ But thinkest not I should 
brew some boneset for her ? ” 

“ Nay, nay, ’t is not medicine the child needeth,” 
said Granny. 

Going out, she found Submit feeding the pigs. 
One, a raw-boned, half-grown young pig, stood 
complacently, giving little satisfied grunts as Sub- 
mit scratched his back with a stick. 

“ See, Granny,” said Submit, a brighter look 
than usual lighting up her sober face. 66 This pig 
is the one that I play is mine. He knoweth me. 
See, he looketh up almost lovingly at me with his 
little eyes, and he always cometh running first, 
when I call the swine.” 

“ Poor child ! ” thought Granny. Then she 
said, — 

“ The widow speaketh well of thee, Submit.” 

“ Doth she ? ” asked Submit, looking surprised, 
but pleased too. 


206 THE young puritans OF OLD HADLEY. 

“ Dost not find it as I said ? Art not happier, 
since thou tryest to do right ? ” asked Granny. 

“ Yea,” said Submit. “ The widow chideth me 
not so sorely of late, and ’t is long since she hath 
beaten me. And I feel better in my heart. When 
I go to bed, I am not so afraid in the dark. But, 
Granny — ” 

“But what, child ?” asked Granny, as Submit 
hesitated. 

“I am so lonely,” said the child, tears filling 
her great eyes, that looked larger and darker than 
ever in the pale, thin face. “ Every one shunneth 
me, and looketh at me askance. I cannot bear it.” 

“ Tut, tut, child,” said Granny, her horn spec- 
tacles suddenly dimming over. “ Do thou but go 
on as thou hast begun, being a good girl, and thou 
wilt find all will be well with thee yet. 4 Trust in 
the Lord and do good.’ Take Granny’s word for 
it. 

She left Submit feeling comforted and encour- 
aged, as she always did after a talk with her old 
friend. 

Granny Allison, meantime, turned her steps 
homeward, stopping in at the Ellises’, where she 
was cordially greeted by Goodwife Ellis. 

Prudence sat working on a coarse tow sheet. 
It being worn in the middle, while the sides were 
yet strong and good, it was Prudence’s task to rip 
out the long seam down the centre, tightly sewed 


SUBMIT AND THE POPPET. 


207 


with strong linen thread in closely set over and 
over stitches. Prudence must pick these out care- 
fully, stitch by stitch, winding the thread as she 
drew it out on a wooden bobbin for use again. 
Then she must sew the outside edges together. 

Turning a sheet was an occupation of which 
Prudence was not over fond, but to-day she was 
working like a little woman, having had the 
promise of playing with her poppet if her task 
were well done. 

“ Wilt let Prudence go out for a while ? ” asked 
Granny. “I would fain see thee alone.” 

Prudence laid down her work without any urg- 
ing, and joyfully went outdoors, where she found 
Nathan, Abigail, their cousin Pelatiah, and little 
Sarah Coleman playing “ meeting.” 

Abigail had struck up a close friendship with 
Sarah Coleman, who was just her own age. 
Sarah’s father, John Coleman, lived in Hatfield 
on the West Side ; but now her mother, Hannah 
Coleman, was staying in Hadley street, at the 
house of her father-in-law, Thomas Coleman, to 
aid in niirsing him, and it was a help to have 
little Sarah spend much of her time at the Ellises’, 
as she was kindly asked to do. 

On a log in the back yard sat contentedly the 
two plump and rosy little girls, hand in hand, 
while Nathan and Pelatiah were, alas, quarrelling 
as to who should be minister. 


208 THE young puritans OF OLD HADLEY. 

“ Thou art always the minister, Nathan Ellis,” 
said Pelatiah, hotly. “ ’T is my turn to-day, I say.” 

“ Nay, thou wast minister last time, I tell 
thee,” said Nathan, stoutly. 

This dispute might have ended in very unmin- 
isterial blows ; but, seeing Prudence coming, a 
happy thought struck Nathan on learning the glad 
news that she was free to play with them a while. 

“ Let Prudence be the minister,” he said. “ She 
is the biggest. Then we shall have as many 
men as women, and one end of the log can be 
the men’s side of the meeting house, and the 
other the women’s.” 

The difficulty thus happily settled, Nathan 
said, — 

“ Thou must give out a psalm, Prudence, and 
I will set the tune.” 

The “ meeting” rose decorously, and soon in at 
the living room window floated the sound of the 
childish voices singing their psalm, as Granny 
Allison and Goodwife Ellis talked. 

“ I have come to ask thee somewhat about 
Submit Carter,” began Granny. 

“Is she bewitched again?” asked Goodwife 
Ellis. “ ’T is well thou hast sent Prudence out, 
an that be the case, for I like not to have her 
hear much talk of such evil carryings on.” 

“ Tush, nay,” said Granny. “ The poor child 
was ne’er bewitched. Thou hast a kind heart. 


SUBMIT AND THE POPPET. 


209 


and, in truth, more sense than some of our 
gossips, and ’t is my desire that thou set them 
a wholesome example by suffering thy Prudence 
to play with Sub m it.” 

Goodwife Ellis grew grave at this request. 

“ I would gladly pleasure thee, Granny Allison, 
and that thou knowest full well. But in ausrht 

O 

endangering my child’s eternal welfare I dare not 
have regard to the favor of man. Submit Carter 
is a strange child. I cannot consent that Pru- 
dence consort with her, lest she become infected 
with Submit’ s evil antics.” 

“ Submit’s strangeness is chiefly caused by her 
friendlessness,” said Granny. “ True, she hath 
some fanciful ness of nature. But she hath too a 
heart that craveth love. ’T were not strange an a 
child of her nature be left alone as she is, that 
she become in very truth distracted, or perchance 
pine away and die.” 

Goodwife Ellis looked uncomfortable, but gave 
no signs of yielding, and Granny went on with 
greater earnestness, — 

“ I ask thee but to put it to thyself, Goodwife 
Ellis. There is no surety in this fleeting world. 
We have here no abiding place. Thou knowest 
well how that scourge, smallpox, sweepeth away 
whole families, oft in a week’s time. Nor have we 
any surety that the Lord may not suffer the 

savages to come in upon us like a flood, slaying 

14 


210 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

and devouring. Perchance, ere long, thy Pru- 
dence or Abigail, thine own daughters, that thou 
broodest tenderly under thy wings lest e’en the 
winds of heaven blow on them too roughly, may 
be left orphans, alone in a hard world, bound out 
to strangers. And the suspicion of witchcraft 
might fall e’en on them too, for none is safe from 
the speech of idle tongues. Wouldst desire them 
to be treated as Submit is ? Remember the words 
of Him who died for us: ‘ Do unto others as ye 
would that they should do unto thee.’ Art doing 
thus unto the bound child ? ” 

As Granny paused, in at the window floated the 
words of the children’s psalm. There was some- 
thing touching in the childish voices, chanting 
words they but vaguely understood, Prudence’s 
sweet, girlish voice rising above the others. 

“ But he that in his temple is, 
most holy and most high, 

And in the heavens hath his seat 
of royal majesty, 

The poor and simple man’s estate, 
considereth in mind, 

And searcheth out full narrowly 
the manners of mankind.” 

“ Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings,” said 
Granny, waving her staff towards the window. 

Tears stood in Goodwife Ellis’s eyes, as she sat 
looking down, her mother heart rent within her 


SUBMIT AND THE POPPET. 


211 


at the picture Granny’s words had vividly called 
up, of her own little daughters left orphans ; a 
picture far from being an impossibility in those 
troubled and unsettled times, as she well knew. 

“ I feel the truth of what thou sayest, Granny,’’ 
she said at last, in subdued tones. “ I will e’en 
venture to suffer Prudence to play with Submit, 
under my own eye, and, if naught ill come of it, 
the motherless child shall come here as freely as 
Widow Burnham permitteth.” 

“ Goodwife Ellis, thou wilt ne’er regret showing 

7 o o 

mercy unto one of His little ones who hath said, 
‘ Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of these little 
ones, ye did it unto me,’ ” said Granny, warmly. 

Late that very afternoon, Submit sat knitting 
by the open door, that she might at least glance 
out sometimes into the free, out-door world, where 
the grass lay green in the sunlight, and the birds 
hopped merrily about. 

Widow Burnham, stepping briskly to and fro 
as she whirled her spinning-wheel, glanced sharply 
at her now and then, to make sure that she was 
not idling. 

Suddenly, to Submit’s surprise, she saw Pru- 
dence coming up the narrow footpath worn in 
the grass, to the widow’s door. 

u Good day, Widow Burnham,” said Prudence, 
respectfully. “ My mother sendeth thee her re- 
gards, and desireth to know if thou wilt suffer 


212 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

Submit to come up to our house and stay until 
the supper hour.” 

Prudence, as she said this, glanced half shyly, 
half cordially, at Submit, whose thin face flushed 
with mingled feelings, her intense longing to go, 
and her certainty that the widow was sure to 
refuse. 

“ How far art along on thy stocking, Submit ? ” 
asked the widow. 

“I have just finished the heel,” said Submit, 
bringing her work for the widow’s inspection. 

“ In truth, thou hast worked diligently,” said 
the widow. “ I discern some signs of promise in 
thee. Thou mayst go with Prudence, an thou 
wilt not fail to return in ample season before 
supper to do thy evening chores. Watch the sun, 
and come ere it be low. And have a care that 
thou play none of thy wild pranks at Goodwife 
Ellis’s.” 

Submit’s face flushed deeper at this, and she 
said, — 

66 Thou shalt see that I will be good, an thou 
lettest me go.” 

No sooner were the girls well out the door, 
than Prudence said eagerly, — 

“ Submit, thou canst ne’er guess what I have 
to show thee ! A poppet, of my very own, that 
came from London ! John bought it for me at 
Mr. Pynchon’s trading-house in Springfield.” 


SUBMIT AND THE POPPET. 


213 


“ A poppet ? How I long to see it ! ” said 
Submit. “ My daddy bought me a brave poppet 
in London, but ’t was lost on shipboard. 1 cried, 
but daddy said, ‘ Ne’er cry for a poppet, lass. 
Daddy will buy thee a far finer one.’ And now I 
shall ne’er have another. But ’t will gladden me 
to see thine.” 

As the girls walked on, chatting happily about 
the poppet, Submit would hardly have been 
recognized as the child who sat, so little while 
ago, pale and drooping, in the shade of Widow 
Burnham’s living room. To be outdoors in the 
sweet air, to be free for a little while from the 
monotonous grind of daily drudgery, to have 
Prudence, whom she liked, so kind, treating her 
as she might any other girl friend, all helped 
to lift the depression weighing down her heart. 
Her eyes so shone, and her face was so brightened, 
that when Good wife Ellis met her at the door 
with friendly greeting, she thought, — 

“ I knew not that the child was so comely. 
But nevertheless she hath an ailing, pining 
look.” 

Prudence brought out the precious poppet, which 
Submit admired enough even to satisfy the fond 
heart of its proud mother. The children sat on 
the grass before the front door, planning a gown 
for Susanna, as Prudence had named her doll. 

Goodwife Ellis was careful to sit with her 


214 the YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

knitting near the window, where she could see 
and hear all the children did. 

Abigail and her friend Sarah Coleman were 
hanging about Prudence, greatly hindering her 
work in their inconveniently warm admiration of 
Susanna. 

“ Do go away, Abigail,” said Prudence. “No, 
thou canst not take Susanna now. I must needs 
measure her for her gown.” 

“ Please, Prudence, please,” begged Abigail. 

“ I would I had a little sister,” said Submit, 
looking wistfully at the chubby arm that wound 
itself coaxingly around Prudence’s neck. 

“ She is a sweet child,” said Prudence, “but she 
pestereth me sorely sometimes.” 

“ Come, little Abigail, and I will tell thee a 
pretty play,” said Submit, while Good wife Ellis 
pricked up her ears and listened intently, fearful of 
witchcraft practices. 

“ Come thou and Sarah with me and be my 
little girls,” continued Submit. “ Our house shall 
be over in yon corner of the paling, by the great 
stump. The stump shall be our table, and we will 
make ready a goodly supper, and ask Prudence 
and her child to visit us and stay to supper. Will 
not that be a pretty play ? ” 

Abigail and Sarah were favorably impressed with 
this plan, and skipped away with Submit, each 
holding one of her hands. How good each 


SUBMIT AND THE POPPET. 215 

plump little hand felt to Submit, as it clasped hers 
confidingly ! 

Submit showed the little ones how to set the 
stump table, with plantain leaves and chips for 
dishes. Then they played journey to Springfield, 
like John and Sam, to buy venison and other 
good things for supper. Springfield was in the 
back yard, and grey moss from the log lying there 
answered to fill the plates and trenchers. Submit’ s 
lively fancy made all seem so real, that the 
children were wholly absorbed in the play. 

As they came back from a trip to Springfield, 
merrily galloping on their make-believe horses, 
they saw a robin lighting on their stump table. 

“ ’Sh,” said Submit, softly. “ Lo, Mistress 
Robin cometh to sup with us ! ” 

When the robin, hopping about the stump, 
actually pecked at a bit of the moss venison on 
the chip trencher, Abigail and Sarah laughed so 
loudly in their glee, that away flew Mistress 
Robin, to return no more. 

“ Verily, as Granny saith, there seemeth naught 
evil about the child,” thought Goodwife Ellis, as 
she watched Submit’s bright, pleasant ways with 
the happy little girls. 

When all was ready, Prudence and Susanna 
came over to supper, with much ceremony. 

Susanna’s face was painted white, with round 
spots of bright red on her cheeks. Her eyes were 


216 THE YOUNG PUKITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 


a staring black, her painted hair the same hue, 
and her expression, to tell the truth, somewhat 
woodenish, as she stood on a block leaning stiffly 
against the stump, with her nose on her plate. 
But in the eyes of all the girls she was beautiful, 
and the chief guest of the occasion. Prudence’s 
feelings were really hurt when Nathan, who, with 
Pelatiah, had insisted on coming to the feast, 
said, — 

44 Susanna is a blockhead.” 

44 Nathan Ellis,” ✓ said Prudence, 44 thou art 
most unkind to speak so rudely of Susanna, right 
before her, too.” 

44 Is not her head made of wood ? ” asked 
Nathan, while Pelatiah upheld him by giggling 
disrespectfully. 

44 Thou and Pelatiah had best go away and play 
by yourselves, methinks,” said Prudence, with 
offended dignity. 

44 We will e’en play be troopers, Pelatiah,” said 
Nathan. 44 We care not for the girls’ stupid make- 
believe supper.” 

And astride sticks, armed with other sticks for 
pikes and guns, the boys galloped about the 
yard, with frequent loud banging of the guns that 
somewhat disturbed the feast, which was beinor 

o 

conducted with all the high courtesy and solemnity 
befitting so important an occasion. 

In the midst of her happiness, Submit suddenly 


SUBMIT AND THE POPPET. 217 

> 

noticed how long the shadows lay from the west 
along the grassy street. 

“ Prudence,” she cried, “ I fear ’t is o’er late. I 
must go home. An I tarry late Widow Burnham 
will ne’er suffer me to come again. We have had 
such a merry time, I shall delight to think on ’t.” 

“ Thou must come again as soon as thou 
canst,” said Prudence, who had found Submit a 
fascinating playfellow. 

The children, loath to part with her, begged to be 
allowed to walk part way home with Submit. 
As they walked happily, hand in hand, down the 
street, Good wife Ferry chanced to look out her 
window. She shook her head forebodingly, and 
said to her daughter Mindwell, — 

“ ’T is much to be feared that the bewitched child 
hath cast her spell o’er Goodman Ellis’s children. 
She seemeth to have them in her possession, an 
my eyes delude me not. ’T is passing strange 
that a sober liver like Goodwife Ellis hath not 
more watchful care o’er her flock.” 

Submit, fortunately unconscious of Goodwife 
Ferry’s dark forebodings, came home looking 
bright, stepping lightly about setting the supper 
table, even humming to herself as she did so, for- 
tunately a psalm tune, to which Widow Burnham 
could not well object. And she ate a larger por- 
ringer of bread and milk that night than for many 
a day before. 


218 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

The widow thought, — 

“ Perchance Granny Allison was right. ’T is 
certain she hath much wisdom in things physical. 
But I doubt an she hath not some leanings in her 
heart towards the flesh-pots of the Church of Eng- 
land. ’T was commonly reported last winter, that 
she had a mince pie on the day called Christmas.” 

After supper that night, John, who had been 
down on Hockanum Meadow all day, helping his 
father garner his crops, thought he had at last a 
chance to try the new bullet mould he had brought 
from Springfield. 

There was still a good fire in the kitchen fire- 
place, and John raked out some red hot coals from 
beneath the cob-irons, and proceeded to put some of 
his lead melting, in a little iron skillet his mother 
had given him expressly for this use. 

Prudence was with him, trying to help, and 
Nathan looking on, full of interest. 

“ I will hold the mould for thee, John,” said 
Prudence, “ when thy lead is melted, and then 
* thou canst pour it in handily.” 

But here their father came out into the kitchen, 
with even a graver look than usual on his face. 

“ My children,” he said, “ make ready speedily to 
go with me to the bedside of the godly Thomas 
Coleman. ’T is not thought that the good man 
will tarry with us till the dawning. Philip and 
Chileab Smith have had their children to receive 


SUBMIT AND THE POPPET. 


219 


his dying blessing, and I would fain have him lay 
his hands on you also, e’en as the dying Israel 
laid his hands upon the children of Joseph, ere 
he breathed his last.” 

The children looked awe-struck. John dared 
not object, or say a word about his plan of mould- 
ing bullets, his partly melted lead. 

Soon Goodman Ellis, leading Nathan and Abigail, 
with John and Prudence walking soberly behind, 
were crossing the wide, grassy street, in the gather- 
ing darkness of the early evening. 

In the stillness the rushing of the river, the 
evening wind that wailed with a foreboding of 
autumn through the rustling dry leaves of the 
trees, took on a dreary sound to the older children’s 
fancy, and Prudence walked close to John, taking 
his hand, which he did not refuse. Abigail so 
stumbled with sleepiness that her father carried 
her in his arms. 

Entering Thomas Coleman’s bedroom, they found 
his family assembled around his bedside, also Mr. 
Russell, and Deacons Tilton and Goodman, engaged 
in prayer. The dying man, the pallor of death 
settling fast on his face, his eyes solemn with the 
far-away look of those about to depart on the long 
journey, lay propped up on pillows to assist his 
labored breath. He had his reason perfectly, and 
was still able to speak in broken, feeble sentences. 

“ As thou enterest Jordan, good brother, are its 


220 THE young puritans OF OLD HADLEY. 


waters sweet unto thy taste ? ” asked Mr. Russell. 
“ Art prepared for the last great change ? ” 

“ My sole trust is in the unspeakable riches of 
Christ,” said the dying man, while all listened 
solemnly to the last utterances of the soul so soon 
to be ushered into the nearer presence of its 
Creator. 

His mind seemed to turn back over his past life ; 
all its struggles, its toils, its broken hopes seemed 
to rise up before him. 

“ God doth with us,” he gasped feebly, “ as a 
goldsmith ; knock, knock, knock, till He finisheth 
the plate. Praised be His name. In Him only 
will I glory. He is my refuge. Under me are the 
everlasting arms.” 

“ Goodman Ellis would fain have thy dying 
blessing on his children,” said Deacon Tilton. 

The children were brought nearer the bed. 

“ The Lord God of your fathers, whose faithful- 
ness is unto all generations, watch over you, and 
bless you, and strengthen you to walk in His ways 
all the days of your life,” gasped the sick man, 
with great effort. 

“ Methinks his strength faileth,” said Mr. Russell. 
“ Brother Tilton, wilt lead us to the throne of 

O >> 

grace : 

The children went home, where their father 
had John read aloud the thirty-eighth psalm, 
and Prudence the last chapter of Revelation. 


SUBMIT AND THE POPPET. 


221 


Then he talked to them about the need of beinR 
prepared for death, and expressed his hope that 
the benediction of that dying Christian, Thomas 
Coleman, might be blessed to their souls’ eternal 
welfare. 

The children went to bed much sobered. Later, 
Good wife Ellis, hearing the sound of weeping 
from Prudence’s room, went up to her. When she 
returned, she said, — 

“ Prudence is in sore disquiet and cannot sleep. 
She feareth that her sins are not pardoned, that 
she may not be elected, and that she may die and 
go to hell to burn forever. I answered her fears 
as well as I could, and prayed with her, and left 
her somewhat comforted.” 

“ ’T would be well to have Mr. Russell here 
to-morrow to reason and pray with her,” said 
Goodman Ellis. “ And now, my wife, let us 
give our children to God in solemn prayer, that 
the blessing of the dying saint may be made 
effectual to their salvation.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 


SUNDRY ROISTERERS. 

T WO days after the death of Thomas Coleman 
came his funeral. Late in the afternoon 
towards sundown, most of the people of the settle- 
ment assembled at the Coleman house. There 
was no prayer or other service at either the house 
or grave, to “ avoid superstition.” The burial 
service of the Church of England, which spoke 
of all, both good and bad, alike, was regarded 
with especial disfavor by the Puritans, who called 
it a “ lying service,” and, in their reaction, went 
to the other extreme. 

But, after an old English custom, both cake and 
wine were served at the house to all present, to 
the value of forty shillings,” as Good wife Ferry 
told Goodwife Goodman next day. 

The coffin, covered with a flowing black pall, 
rested on a bier, which was carried on the shoul- 
ders of six strong men. The solemn procession 
started for the grave. 

First walked the pall-bearers with their burden, 
the black pall falling on the heads of the men. 


SUNDRY ROISTERERS. 


223 


Behind the bier walked the aged widow supported 

bv the arm of her son John. After them walked 

•/ 

the other children of Thomas Coleman with 
their families. Next came the large family of 
Wellses, closely connected with the Colemans 
by marriage, the widow Frances Wells, mother 
of Thomas Wells senior, and grandmother of 
the younger Thomas, Jonathan, and the rest, 
having wedded Thomas Coleman as her second 
husband. 

Behind the chief mourners came the neighbors 
and friends, walking two by two, many children 
being among them, as funerals were held to exert 
a peculiarly impressive religious influence on the 
minds of the young. 

It was a cloudy day in early autumn, chilly and 
depressing as such days are, with the conscious- 
ness they bring that summer is over, winter close 
at hand. Down one side of the street walked 
slowly and solemnly the long procession to the 
Middle Highway, leading to the Meadow, and out 
to the spot where, on the meadow plain, rose two 
ridges with a little valley between. This spot, 
rising as it did somewhat above exposure to the 
floods of spring, had been paled in for a burying 
ground, and here a few grassy hillocks, un- 
marked by stones, showed the last resting-place 
of the Hadley Puritans. 

There were two sets of bearers. As the pro- 


224 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

cession neared Goody Webster’s house, it stopped, 
that a change of bearers might be made. Goody 
Webster’s face was seen looking darkly out her 
window. She lived apart from her neighbors, 
sharing neither their joys nor sorrows. 

Samuel Porter, one of the head bearers, as 
he lifted the end of the bier to his shoulders, 
stumbled over a stone and almost fell, giving the 
coffin an unseemly lurch. Glances of awe were 
exchanged along the procession, and Deacon Good- 
man whispered to Deacon Tilton, — 

“ Verily, this is a wanton offence in the witch, to 
jostle thus rudely the body of the godly Thomas 
Coleman in its journey to the grave.” 

“ An she carry things with such violence, our 
magistrates must perforce deal with her with a 
strong hand,” replied Deacon Tilton. 

The procession wound out upon the Meadow 
Plain, entered the little burying ground, and 
silently formed on one of the ridges around the 
open grave dug by neighbors’ hands for the friend 
who walked with them no more. 

The autumn sun, low in the west, near its 
setting, now glanced soberly through a rift in the 
sombre clouds. Death was always invested to 
Puritan children with terror. The waning light, 
the autumn wind that swept across the plain, 
rustling mournfully the tall, dry, wild grass, and 
blowing about the black pall on the coffin which 


SUNDRY ROISTERERS. 225 

rested beside the open grave, all added to the 
gloomy impression on the children’s minds. 

Prudence, weeping, held tightly to her mother’s 
hand, as something warm, and living, and human. 
Submit, her face blanched, her eyes great and 
solemn, looked across the grave at Prudence, and 
felt more desolate than ever at the thought that 
there was no loving mother’s hand for her to 
clasp. She felt too awe-stricken and depressed 
with a certain terror of both life and death to 
shed a tear, but stood with a rigid look on her 
white face, watching the bearers, as, amidst 
reverent silence, the coffin w r as lowered, and the 
clods of the valley echoed on its lid with hollow, 
heart-breaking sound. 

Not a word was said at the grave. When it 
was filled, the procession re-formed as before, and 
silently returned to the street. That evening, 
Mr. Russell, the deacons, and several of the lead- 
ing lights in the church, assembled at the house 
of the widow, to pray and sing psalms with the 
afflicted family. When the meeting broke up, 
Goodman Ellis requested Mr. Russell to call at his 
house next day, to pray with Prudence and deepen 
the impression evidently made on the child’s mind 
by the event of the day. 

When she reached home from the funeral, 
Widow Burnham said reproachfully to Submit : 

“ Saw’st thou not Prudence Ellis weeping at the 

15 


226 the young puritans of old hadley. 

grave to-day ? This death should be an awaken- 
ing to thee also. Didst not notice little hillocks 
in the burying place not a span long ? Death 
may be waiting to clutch thee e’en this very 
night. But I sorely fear thou wilt die impenitent 
and have thy portion ‘ where their worm dieth 
not, and their flames are not quenched.’ Thou 
stood’st there looking as hard as the nether mill- 
stone, not shedding a tear. I could have shaken 
thee. Folk will say I neglect thy souks salvation.” 

Submit could not explain to Widow Burnham 
the sadness beyond tears filling her young heart. 
Indeed, she understood it not herself. She only 
felt it. She said, — 

“ Methinks death is not the saddest thing.” 

The widow took this for further stubbornness. 

“ Thou art a graceless child. Have a care lest 
thou fall into the hands of an angry God.” 

When Submit went to bed that night, in her 
dreary attic chamber under the sloping roof, she 
lay long trembling, with tightly closed eyes, lest 
some nameless horror befall her in the darkness, 
listening to the dreary “ hoot, hoot,” of the wolves 
out on the plain, and thinking of the widow’s 
warning. Then somehow the words of the psalm 
Granny Allison had told her to learn, came into 
her mind with a strong comforting assurance, as if 
something told her that this was the truth, rather 
than Widow Burnham’s dark, hard prophecies. 


SUNDRY ROISTERERS. 


227 


Repeating to herself, — 

“ The Lord is my Shepheard, I shall not want. 
. . . Yea, though I should walke through the valley 
of the shadowe of death, I will feare no evill : for 
thou art with mee : thy rod and thy staffe, they 
comfort mee ” — at last she glided away into the 
peaceful world of dreams. 

Her face wore a happy smile, and her lips 
murmured w T ords of love in her sleep, for were 
not she and her dear daddy walking, hand in hand, 
through the flowery, terraced garden of a beauti- 
ful castle, where peacocks spread their splendid 
tails in the soft sunlight ? 

John, like the other boys, had worked hard 
these autumn days, helping his father clear the 
crops from the meadow land. When the meadows 
were wholly cleared, the fence viewers would care- 
fully look over the many rods of common fence 
surrounding the meadow land, calling upon each 
proprietor to repair his own section wherever 
necessary ; and then the cattle, swine, and horses 
now running wild over their woodland pastures 
on hill and plain for many a mile to the north, 
east, and west, would be gathered in, and pastured 
until winter in the great common field. 

u T is merry sport, John,” his cousin Sam had 
assured him, “ when we go riding forth to gather 
in the herds and flocks from the woods. The 
older and soberer men go not. ’T is the young 


228 the young puritans of old iiadley. 

men and big boys that have this business in 
charge. Some among them are jovial sparks. 
Thou wilt see lively sport that day, I warrant 
thee.” 

Looking eagerly forward to this unusual outing, 
John had worked so faithfully and willingly as to 
win rare praise from his father. 

“ Thou wilt be a man yet, John, and one, I 
trust, after mine own heart,” said his father, as 
they were riding home at night from Hockanum 
Meadow, with all the flax that could be loaded 
on their horses piled on before and behind their 
saddles. “ I would rather have thee for help now 
than ten Naushapees.” 

This was hardly enthusiastic praise. But it was 
not so much his father’s words, as the look of 
approval he cast on John that warmed his heart, 
and made him work harder than ever next day. 

The fall ploughing was done, winter rye, 
meslin, and wheat sown for early crops in the 
spring ; beans were gathered, turnips pulled, corn 
picked, and the stalks cut for the cattle’s use, and 
a goodly crop of pumpkins stored in the cellar. 
Great stacks of hay, made from the rank, wild 
grass, were mowed away in the barn. 

With all these stores of his own raising safely 
housed in barn and cellar, Goodman Ellis felt rich 
indeed. He and his were abundantly provided 
with the necessities of life for the long winter 


SUNDRY ROISTERERS. 229 

soon to be upon them. There was naught to 
waste, but enough with frugal care. 

But the good man was careful to read at even- 
ing devotions from the twelfth chapter of Luke 
the parable of the rich man whose ground brought 
forth so plentifully that he purposed to pull down 
his barn and build greater, and earnestly did he 
pray that he and his might not be as those who 
lay up treasures on earth, where moth and rust 
do corrupt, and thieves break through and steal, 
but might ever be rich towards God, and accepted 
in His sisdit. 

O 

His own herds were as yet so small that they 
were kept near home, pastured in the street or on 
the home lot ; but he willingly consented that John 
should go to aid his cousin Sam, Jonathan and 
Noah Wells, the Belding and Warner boys, in 
gathering in their fathers’ herds from the forests. 
Samuel Russell, the minister’s son, was also to be 
of the company. 

This was reassuring to Goodwife Ellis, who 
said, — 

“ I am glad, John, that thou wilt be in such 
staid company. Mr. Russell’s son is a sober and 
godly youth, who goeth shortly to Harvard Col- 
lege, to fit for the ministry.” 

“ Doubtless sundry of our roisterers, like Joseph 
Selden and his sort, will go on this day’s busi- 
ness,” said John’s father, “ but do thou, my son, 


230 THE young puritans OF OLD HADLEY. 

pay no heed to them and their vile ways. Scrip- 
ture warneth us, ‘ Enter not into the path of the 
wicked, and go not in the way of evil men.’ ‘ If 
sinners entice thee, consent thou not.’ ” 

“ Have no fears for me, father,” said John. 
“ 1 have small liking for Joseph Selden and his 
noisy crew.” 

Early in the morning a troop of about thirty 
young men and boys, mounted on horseback, rode 
out the Middle Highway eastward, towards the 
woods. White frost still lay thick on grass and 
palings, and the air was keen yet exhilarating. 
The Hadley youths were in the best of spirits, 
with no work for at least a whole day, perhaps 
for several days, and a wild, free excursion in the 
woods before them. All carried guns, with lively 
expectations of picking up some game. 

John and Sam were of course of the party. As 
they rode along, John said, — 

“ Verily, I see not how thou knowest where to 
look for thy cattle, Sam. It seemeth much like 
seeking a needle in a hay mow.” 

“In truth, we know not,” said Sam. “We 
must e’en hunt till we chance upon them. They 
have a wide range o’er all the hills and plains to the 
east, as well as north and south, though Mount 
Holyoke serveth as a barrier to the south as doth 
the river on the west. ’T is much like hunting; 
wild game, they have run in the woods so long. 


SUNDRY ROISTERERS. 


231 


Some years we are forced to go out every day for 
a week ere we run them all in.” 

When they were well out in the woods, a 
mile or more from the settlement, Joseph Selden 
cried, — 

“ Ho, ye merry lads, a song, a song ! Methinks 
we need not drone psalms here in the wikiwood.” 

Edward Grannis, who had a pleasant tenor 
voice, struck up this song. 

“ Of all the gay birds that e’er I did see, 

The owl is the fairest by far to me ; 

For all the day long she sits on a tree, 

And when the night comes, away flieth she ! ” 

This old English song was sung to a rollicking 

o o o o 

air that gave it a flavor of wickedness in the ears 
of Sam and John, as well as others of the more 
strictly trained youth, especially when Joseph 
Selden and others of the wilder sort came in on 
the last line with a shout that rang uproariously 
through the silent forest, — 

“ And when the night comes, array flieth she ! ” 

Nathaniel Warner, riding somewhat in advance, 
had espied a fine deer drinking at a spring, and 
carefully drawn what he felt a sure aim upon her, 
when this roaring chorus broke out, and the 
startled deer bounded away with long, graceful 
leaps into remoter depths of the wilderness. 

Nathaniel was vexed. 


232 the young puritans of old hadley. 


“ Edward Grannis,” he said, “ an thou goest 
roariug thy roistering songs through the woods in 
this riotous fashion, ’t is little we shall see of game, 
or our cattle either, methinks.” 

“ Thou art hard to please, Brother Warner,” 
said Grannis, scofhngly. 

“ ’T is a pity an we cannot let ourselves out 
sometimes,” said Joseph Selden. “ That is a merry 
catch, more to my taste, I trow, than any of Tom 
Sternhold’s prick songs. Troll another stave, Ed.” 

“ Scripture saith, if any be merry, let him sing 
psalms, and that thou hast oft heard,” said Stephen 
Belding, who disliked Selden, and was as willing 
to quarrel with him about psalm singing as any- 
thing else. 

“ Hearken unto godly Deacon Belding,” said 
Selden, mockingly, through his nose, while Stephen 
colored, and his eyes flashed in most undeaconly 
fashion. 

“ Mayhap our saints will like better this jovial 
strain,” said Grannis. “ ’T is merrier far than any 
of your Genevan jigs.” And he struck off into 


“Nose, nose, jolly red nose, 

And what gave me this jolly red nose ? 
Nutmegs and cinnamon, spices and cloves, 
And they gave me this jolly red nose !” 


Whenever the words, “ jolly red nose ” occurred, 
they were shouted in chorus by the band of con- 


SUNDRY ROISTERERS. 


233 


vivial spirits, wlio grew wilder and more lawless 
the farther behind they left the restrictions of 
Hadley street, and the more they saw by the dark- 
ening countenances of their comrades that they 
were succeeding in annoying them. 

Moses Gilbert, at the last line of the song, 

“ And they gave me this jolly red nose,” 

drew a flask of aqua-vitae from the inside breast 
of his leathern doublet and handed it to Selden, 
saying, — 

“ There ’s somewhat stronger than spices and 
cloves in this flask, something that will warm up 
the cockles of thy heart, and give thee a jolly red 
nose in good truth, an thou drinkest enough 
on t. 

Selden took the flask, held it aloft, and, as he 
drew the cork, repeated with mock solemnity, — 

u Made in London, 

Sold at York, 

Stops a bottle, 

And is a cork.” 

The flask circulated among the singers, and their 
mirth orew more boisterous. 

Seeing Samuel Russell rein in his horse, and 
drop behind the others, Sam Smith and John did 
the same. 

“ It ill becometh me to countenance such lewd 


234 the young puritans of old hadley. 

practices as these,” said Samuel. “ My father 
would ill brook my consorting with these fuddle- 
caps. An needs be, I will e’en return to Hadley 
street without our cattle.” 

“ I care not to ride farther in such loose com- 
pany,” said Sam. 

“ Nor I,” said John. 

While the boys were debating what they should 
do, they saw the Wells boys, Nathaniel Warner, 
Stephen Belding, and the rest of the soberer ones 
of the party riding back towards them. 

“ ’T is worse than useless for us to go on with 
these rioters,” said Nathaniel. “ Their uproar will 
scare our cattle so we shall ne’er lay eye upon 
them. Moreover, we may be held answerable for 
some of their wild pranks. They ’ll bring up in 
the stocks, or I am no prophet.” 

“I’ll be no snook to inform on them,” said 
Stephen Belding, “ but methinks they will let the 
cat out of the bag themselves. Let them alone. 
Give them enough rope, and they ’ll e’en hang 
themselves.” 

“Let them go on,” said Jonathan Wells, “and 
let us bend our course more to the north, and drive 
in whatever creatures we hap to find in that 
region.” 

This course was adopted. The boys travelled 
all day through the woods, not only finding many 
of the Hadley cattle, but managing to gather here 


SUNDRY ROISTERERS. 


235 


and there under the tall chestnuts and walnuts 
good store of nuts, which filled the ends of the bags 
hung across their saddles with this very object in 
view. And some game was brought down too. 

It was a hard day’s work. Often they must 
walk, leading their horses, stumbling through 
bushes and over rocks and stones, as, with many 
shouts and cries, they sought to circumvent and 
surround a wild horse or refractory steer, deter- 
mined to go any way except towards Hadley. 

Towards night Sam Smith said, — 

“ ’T is passing strange that I find nowhere 
my father’s young bay mare. He deemed her too 
young to put to work this summer, and suffered 
her to run in the woods, thinking to break her in 
this fall.” 

“ She will be as wild as a deer, by this 
time, doubtless,” said Stephen Belding. “ ’T is 
strange she hath not kept with the Hadley 
horses. Creatures know each other, and have 
their friendships like folks. Our Hadley herds 
mostly keep together all summer. It seemeth 
that we have here most of the Hadley horses 
turned out to pasture last spring, save thy father’s 
mare.” 

“ I remember that bay mare well,” said 
Nathaniel Warner. “ She is a high spirited 
creature. ’ T would be a pity had the Maquas 
stolen her, which is not unlikely.” 


236 the young puritans of old hadley. 

The troop of horses the boys were driving began 
to show signs of alarm and uneasiness. They 
sniffed the air wildly, and tried to break through 
the surrounding circle of their captors, back into 
the woods. The cattle too caught the infection. 

“Wild beasts or Indians about, I trow,” said 
Jonathan Wells. “ The cattle scent something 
they like not.” 

“ Methinks yonder I catch a glimpse of a light 
through the trees,” said Stephen. 

He and Sam rode forward to investigate. 

In a hollow beside a spring in the woods, they 
found several Indians encamped around a fire, 
over which venison was cooking. It being near 
their own supper hour, the appetizing odor was 
most tantalizing to the half famished boys. 

Wequogon seemed to be head sachem of the little 
band. 

Sam bethought himself, — 

“ Perchance Wequogon may know somewhat of 
the whereabouts of the mare. The Indians roam 
the forests all the time, far and near, and naught 
escapeth their keen eyes.” 

In reply to Sam’s queries, Wequogon shook his 
head, signifying that he had not seen the missing 
animal. But a young Indian brave sitting 
wrapped in his blanket the other side of the fire, 
who apparently had taken no notice of the boys, 
now looked up and said, — 


SUNDRY ROISTERERS. 


237 


“ Englishman’s squaw horse far away, down 
the great river. Womscom saw her last moon. 
She run like the deer.” 

“ How far away, thinkest thou, Womscom?” 
asked Sam. 

“ Many bow shots. Below the great mountain,” 
said Womscom, pointing off to the south. 

Here was news indeed. 

“ She must have gone through the crack in the 
mountain,” said Sam. “ ’T is strange she should 
wander so far away by herself.” 

“ Doubtless Goody Webster had some hand in 
the matter,” said Stephen. “ ’T will be a great 
mercy an thou e’er seest her again.” 

“ She must be somewhere in the wilderness to 
the southward, by what Womscom tells us,” said 
Sam. “ Had she strayed among the Springfield 
herds, they would know where she belongeth, for 
she hath the Hadley brand on her flank. We 
shall have a fine chase after her.” 

It was late that night when a large herd of 
cattle, horses, and swine were with much ado 
driven in through the meadow gate. Wildly did 
they run to and fro, and watchful would the 
fence viewers now have to be that the common 
fence was kept staunch and tight, and all gates 
shut, lest these restless wild animals break out and 
take to the woods again. 

Still later that night, when sober folk were 


238 THE YOUNG PUEITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

abed and asleep, they were wakened by an 
unwonted whooping and hallooing through the 
quiet street, when Joseph Selden and his noisy 
gang came roaring and galloping home, more than 
half drunk. Constable Ferry and the night 
watch soon laid the firm grip of the law on these 
roisterers, and having taken their names, bound 
them to appear before the magistrate next 
morning and answer for their evil practices, and 
then suffered them to go home, which they did in 
much quieter fashion. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


GOING TO THURSDAY LECTURE. 

T PIE next morning Joseph Selden and the 
other offenders duly appeared before Magis- 
trate Henry Clarke, in the hall or great room of 
his house, which served as the court room. The 
culprits bore themselves with a mixture of sheep- 
ish shame and sullen defiance. 

Philip Smith had been greatly scandalized by 
his son Sam’s account of the previous day’s doings, 
and felt it his duty as one of the townsmen, in 
the interests of public morality, to appear at the 
presentation of the offenders and see that justice 
was done. He urged Magistrate Clarke to “ lay 
on and spare not.” 

“ These sons of Belial must be made an example 
of,” he said sternly, frowning upon the surly 
group who stood with hanging heads before the 
magistrate. “ We came forth into the wilderness 
to train up our youth in the nurture and admoni- 
tion of the Lord. The lewd practices of these 
roisterers are a scandal and an offence to all 
Hadley, and will surely call down the vengeance 


240 THE young puritans OF OLD HADLEY. 

of God upon our settlement, an they are not put 
down with a firm hand. I trust, worshipful Mr. 
Clarke, thou wilt make them sweat for their evil 
doings.” 

Here Joseph Selden cast an insolent look of 
bold defiance at Philip Smith, angering that ex- 
cellent but quick-tempered man, and he continued 
emphatically, — 

“ An thou wilt hearken to my opinion, twenty 
lashes on the bare back, well laid on, were none 
too weighty a punishment.” 

“ Please God, no such sentence shall e'er be 
executed on me,” flashed out Selden, hotly. 

He had taken up the tongs to use a coal from 
the fire to light his pipe. As he spoke, he threw 
the tongs violently down on the hearth stone, 
with a loud bang. 

“ Joseph Selden,” said Magistrate Clarke, sternly, 

thou art fined twenty shillings for drunkenness 
and rioting yesterday, and for thy turbulent and 
disrespectful demeanor in this court. Thou must 
also give bond of ten pounds for quiet and decent 
behavior hereafter, or, in default of such bond, 
go to Northampton jail. Edward Grannis, Moses 
Gilbert, and the rest of thy lewd companions are 
fined five shillings for yesterday's misdemeanor. 
For a second offence of like nature, I shall sen- 
tence you all to sit in the stocks on Lecture day, 
for three hours; and a third transgression will 


GOING TO THURSDAY LECTURE. 241 

bring the twenty lashes on the bare back which 
our good Mr. Philip Smith, in his zeal for righteous 
living, hath recommended be meted out to you 
to-day. I am loath to use hardness for the 
first offence, but if clemency avail not to restrain 
you, then look to feel the full weight of the arm 
of the law.” 

Edward Church, Selden’s father-in-law, promptly 
went on his bond. As Selden left the court, red 
with rage, his wrath seemed directed even more 
towards Philip Smith than against Magistrate 
Clarke. In passing him, he returned Smith’s 
frown of disapproval with an insulting stare, 
muttering something under his breath about 
“ snooks ” and “ meddlers ” as he went out. 

Philip Smith shook his head darkly, saying to 
Magistrate Clarke, — 

“ Yon is a bold sprout of evil. Perchance ’t is 
our duty to order him out of town.” 

“ But for his good father-in-law, I would pro- 
ceed against him at once,” said the magistrate. 

Not long after these events, one Wednesday 
afternoon Submit appeared at the Ellises’, her 
face lit up with eager anticipation. 

“ Goodwife Ellis,” she said, “ Widow Burnham 
sendeth her respects and desireth to know if thou 
wilt take me under thy care to the Thursday Lec- 
ture ? ’T is held at Hatfield this week, as thou 
knowest.” 


16 


242 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

“ Why goeth not the widow to the Lecture 
herself ? ” asked Goodwife Ellis. “ I trust she 
groweth not heedless of spiritual exercises.” 

“ She is feeble, and feeleth not strong enough 
to go, sorely to her sorrow,” said Submit. “ She 
hath a touch of her old trouble, the king's evil.” 

“ ’T is a pity she were not in London now,” 
said Goodwife Ellis. “ While we tarried there, 
ere sailing, a company of those afflicted with king’s 
evil gathered at Whitehall, and his Majesty, King 
Charles, graciously came forth and laid his hands 
upon them, and ’t was said that many of those 
that were ill were mightily helped thereby.” 

“ Granny Allison hath concocted a distillation 
for her of dandelion and burdock root, which she 
saith is a sovereign remedy,” said Submit. “And 
Goodwife Ferry hath loaned her a hare’s foot to 
hang about her neck.” 

“ Hath it one joint of the leg attached? ” asked 
the good wife, anxiously. 

“ Yea. Goodwife Ferry saith that otherwise it 
would have little virtue,” said Submit, who, while 
she answered all Goodwife Ellis’s inquiries po- 
litely, was all the time in an inward fever of impa- 
tience to know whether she could go to the Lecture. 

“ She spoke truly,” said Goodwife Ellis, still 
intent on the hare’s foot. “ Thou canst say to the 
widow, Submit, that it grieves me to hear that she 
is valetudinarious, and that I will willingly take 


GOING TO THURSDAY LECTURE. 


243 


thee to the Lecture with Prudence. But Hannah 
Coleman hath craved me to leave Prudence and 
Abigail to sup at her father’s. Our John will go 
over for his sisters and bring them home by early 
candle -lighting. Think’ st thou the widow will 
spare thee so long?” 

“ I know not, but I will ask her,” said Submit, 
eagerly. 

“ I do hope thou canst go, Submit,” said Pru- 
dence, who had come to love Submit almost as a 
sister. 

“ I long to go with thee more than I can tell,” 
said Submit, “ but I sorely fear Widow Burnham 
will not suffer me to be away for so long.” 

The widow, who had found Submit much more 
tractable and helpful since she had taken Granny’s 
advice and allowed her to play now and then, sur- 
passed any hopes Submit dared entertain by con- 
senting that she might accept Goodwife Ellis’s 
kind invitation. 

“ Thou mayst go,” she said, 6C an thou canst 
work briskly enough this morning to get thy tasks 
done for the whole day. I deem it for thy soul’s 
good to go to the Lecture, above all, in the godly 
company of Goodman Ellis and wife. I trust Mr. 
Russell and the deacons will notice that I am mind- 
ful of thy soul’s welfare.” 

Submit flew about the house that morning as if 
her feet were borne by invisible wings, accomplish- 


244 the young puritans of old hadley. 

ing an amount of work that would have been cred- 
itable in a girl of eighteen. Nor was she very tired 
at noon, for all the time, as she worked, she was 
buoyed up within by happy anticipations. 

Was Lecture day then so gay and delightful an 
occasion, that a child’s heart should thus sing for 
joy because of it ? Alas, no, it was but a modified 
Sunday. 

The Thursday lectures were held every week, 
at either Northampton, Hadley, or Hatfield, as the 
settlement on the west side the river had lately 
been named. Lecture day service was considered 
almost as binding a duty as that of Sunday. Hard 
as they worked at other times, business was largely 
dropped Thursday afternoons, and the people of 
the three settlements assembled in church to 
listen to an exhortation and sing psalms, as on 
Sunday. 

So great was the throng crossing the river on 
these days, that at the ferry between Hadley and 
Northampton, kept by Joseph Kellogg at the south 
end of Hadley street, it was voted by the town 
that on Lecture days passengers going to attend 
the Lecture, if six or more crossed at once in 
Kellogg’s canoe, should pay but a penny apiece, 
instead of two pence, the usual fare. 

But though Lecture days were a sort of Sunday, 
still they furnished the nearest approach to a social 
gathering and excitement that the Puritans knew. 


GOING TO THURSDAY LECTURE. 245 

It was no wonder that Submit, so closely confined, 
looked forward with keen delight to this outing 
from her daily routine of drudgery and Widow 
Burnham’s ceaseless supervision, to the trip to 
Hatfield, where she had never been, and above all, 
to the supper at John Coleman’s in company with 
her friend Prudence and the little girls, whom she 
loved, and who loved her. 

Lecture day dawned a perfect October day, of 
brilliant blue sky overhead, and of an almost in- 
toxicatingly clear, crisp, stimulating air. Each 
breath of it filled one with fresh life and hope. 
Every tree was radiant in its own autumn bright- 
ness of crimson, yellow, orange, or bronze. Mount 
Tom, and Mount Holyoke and its whole wild range, 
blazed in a splendor of hue made only more vivid 
by the many dark green pines and hemlocks that 
rose unchanged from amidst this wealth of color. 

Submit sat by the window, impatiently watching 
for the coming of the Ellises. To not lose a mo- 
ment, she had already put on her drab cloak with 
a wide white linen collar over it, and her sad-col- 
ored woollen hood which turned back from her 
face. But the unusual pink tinge on her cheeks, 
and the happy light of joyous anticipation shin- 
ing in her dark eyes, seemed to light up even her 
sombre dress. 

Widow Burnham regarded doubtfully this 
changed, hopeful aspect, and mumbled in tones 


246 the young puritans of old hadley. 

stifled by the bandage under her chin encircling 
her head, — 

“ I trust thou wilt walk soberly, and carry thy- 
self as befitteth the day, and thy condition as a 
bound girl. ’T is a marvellous condescension in 
Goodwife Ellis to suffer thee to go with her daugh- 
ters to visit the Colemans. It is becoming that 
thou carry thyself humbly and gratefully.” 

A shadow fell on Submit’s brightness. These 
words almost spoiled her pleasure. Oh, that she 
were not a bound girl, but free, free as her soul 
longed to be ! 

As she mused, discontentedly, on the hardships 
of her lot, the Ellis party appeared walking 
sedately down the street : first, Goodman Ellis 
and wife, leading Abigail ; behind them walked 
John, Prudence, and Nathan. 

As Submit came out the door, Abigail dropped 
her mother’s hand, and running to Submit, seized 
the small hand, already stained and hardened by 
labor, in her own plump, soft little hand. 

Submit’s face brightened again, and still more, 
when Prudence, her face all smiles of joy, 
said, — 

“ Oh, Submit, thou knowest not how it gladdens 
me to have thee go too.” 

Goodwife Ellis greeted her kindly, and Goodman 
Ellis, whose stern dignity usually made Submit 
afraid of him, perhaps softened a little, uncon- 


GOING TO THURSDAY LECTURE. 247 

sciously, by the glowing beauty all around, gave 
her a staid welcome almost cordial. 

As for John, Submit had nothing to say to him, 
or he to her. Perhaps she would not have been 
quite so shy of John, had she known that he had 
been pleased lately to remark to Prudence, — 

“ Thy friend Submit is by no means ill-favored, 
and she hath shrewd wits. ’T is a pity she is a 
bound girl.” 

The fresh air and the bright sunshine were a 
rapture to Submit, coming from the dark, smoky 
kitchen, scented with the sickly odors of Widow 
Burnham’s lotions and extracts. Then it was a 
scene of unusual liveliness to see both sides of the 
long street stirring with people walking down 
towards the river, while along the grassy centre 
jogged on horseback various of the older men, with 
their wives on pillions behind them. Most of the 
sturdy folk, not spoiled by luxury and inured to 
walking, felt the two miles’ walk to Hatfield but 
a pleasure jaunt. Submit only wished the dis- 
tance were twice as great. 

Just before the Ellises walked Thomas Wells 
with his wife Hepzibah and her friend, Mistress 
Mary Broughton. The bright day had tempted 
these young women to air some of their finery, 
which they had been more cautious about dis- 
playing since the deacons had formally waited 
upon and admonished them. 


248 the young puritans of old hadley. 

But when the sun shone so fairly, and the sky 
was so blue, and all nature in holiday array, and 
when the people of three settlements were to be 
assembled to look at them, it was not in the heart 
of human woman to resist the temptation to look 
her prettiest. 

A pleasant sight indeed were these young 
women in their bright silk hoods and dresses 
of flowered damask, their cloaks trimmed with 
lace and bows of ribbon, and their silken scarves 
fluttering gayly in the breeze as they walked 
demurely along ; and quite conscious were they 
of the fact. 

Submit whispered to Prudence, — 

“ Wouldst not delight in a hood lined with 
pink silk, like Mistress Hepzibah’s ? Doth it not 
please thine eye ? ” 

“ In truth it doth,” said Prudence, “ but I wot 
’t is because of my sinful heart. Yet I wish much 
that bright colors were not so wicked.” 

Goodman Ellis gazed frowningly on the young 
women’s finery, and, when the Wellses were de- 
layed on the river’s bank, waiting for a canoe to 
cross, felt it his duty to testify against it as 
follows, — 

“ Mistress Hepzibah, methinks thou art clad 
somewhat o’er bravely and flauntingly for Lecture 
day, when we strive to trim our soul’s wings for 
a flight above creature comforts.” 


GOING TO THURSDAY LECTURE. 


249 


“ Yon tree hath donned a scarlet coat/’ said 
Mistress Hepzibah, with a saucy smile, pointing to 
a brilliant maple, whose bright image was reflected 
in the river below the bank. 

Goodman Ellis was not to be softened by co- 
quettish smiles or graces. 

“ Yon tree hath not a soul to be lost. Know- 
est thou not that Time is but a dressing room for 
Eternity?” he asked. Then, turning to the hus- 
band, “ Thomas, doubtless thou wilt be held to 
answer for thy wife’s soul, she being the weaker 
vessel, and looking up to thee in all things, as the 
Church looketh to Christ. Thou shouldst use thy 
authority to prohibit this vain and pernicious ex- 
ample set by thy spouse, liable to corrupt and lead 
astray our youth.” 

Thomas Wells looked uncomfortable, and said 
nothing. He was by no means so certain as Good- 
man Ellis that he was the stronger vessel. And 
his wife looked very pretty to him in her wed- 
ding finery. He felt that the elders were too rigid 
in their ideas ; but it would not do to say so, 
therefore he maintained a discreet silence. 

Many log canoes and some larger boats were 
plying to and fro across the river, which glis- 
tened so brightly in the sun that Goodman 
Ellis was fain to shade his eyes from its sparkle 
as he watched John landing on the opposite shore 
his important passengers, Mr. Russell and wife. 


250 THE young puritans OF OLD HADLEY. 

Mr. Russell held his horse bv the bridle, and it 
swam or walked behind the canoe according to the 
depth of the water. 

John paddled swiftly back, his canoe leaving 
a long ripple on the broad river’s shining surface. 
When the Ellises and Submit were all seated in the 
canoe, it sank so low in the water that Goodman 
Ellis said, — 

“ Ye must carry yourselves sedately, or we 
shall all be in the river, methinks. Canst safely 
stem the current with such a load, my son ? ” 

“Yea, father,” said John. “I am oft on the 
river, and thou wilt see that I know full well how 
to manage.” 

The Connecticut presented an animated scene, 
with people coming and going on its banks, and 
canoe loads paddling to and fro, the passengers 
leading their horses, who swam behind the canoes, 
to Nathan’s intense interest. In truth, Nathan 
felt crossing the river to be the best part of Lecture 
day. 

Submit looked up and down the broad beautiful 
river whose shining waters reflected the blue 
sky, and the fringe of bright-hued trees and 
bushes bordering its shores. As the canoe glided 
on swiftly, impelled by John’s strong arms, she 
felt free and happy, floating on amidst this almost 
unreal world of beauty above and below. She 
whispered to Prudence, — 


GOING TO THURSDAY LECTURE. 251 

“ Being on the water mindeth me of sailing the 
ocean with daddy.” 

“ I like not the water o’er well,” said Prudence, 
regarding fearfully the edge of the canoe, almost 
dipping into the river, and the pebbly bottom 
eight feet below them, but plainly seen through 
the clear water. She sat carefully as if holding 
up the whole canoe. 

“ I could live on it always,” said Submit, “ or 
in it, were I only a fish. See yon great fish, how 
he seemeth to stand still on the water ! Ah, 
away he goeth with one dash of his tail, behind 
yon tree root ! How free he is ! I would I were 
a fish to roam at my will in the clear, cool 
water.” 

“ Thou art a strange girl, Submit, metliinks,” 
said Prudence, looking in wonder at Submit, 
whose eyes were fixed wistfully on the smooth 
flowing water, in which she trailed one hand. 

John displayed considerable skill in the manage- 
ment of the canoe. At first, to Prudence’s 
surprise, he rowed up stream, keeping close to the 
hither shore in the still water under the bank. 

“ Why, John,” exclaimed Prudence, “ what doest 
thou? We want to cross the river, and thou 
rowest up.” 

“ Little maids should not talk about what they 
do not understand,” said John. “ Wait and see.” 

After he had rowed up stream a few rods, John 


252 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

suddenly veered his course, and shot out into 
the main current, which bore him swiftly down 
stream, he at the same time paddling strongly 
for the further shore, so that he reached the 
landing-place on the opposite side without much 
difficulty. 

His passengers climbed the bank, as did John, 
after tying his canoe to an overhanging bush, and 
all took the path which led north through the 
meadow to the fertile intervale plain where stood, 
each side its one street, the cluster of thirty houses 
that made the plantation of Hatfield. 

From the other end of the street they saw the 
people from Northampton pouring in, while the 
Hatfield people had generally turned out, for 
their young minister, Mr Hope Atherton, was to 
preach the lecture this day, and it was a point of 
both pride and duty to uphold his hands. The 
throng bent their way to the small wooden meeting 
house standing in the centre of the wide street. 

The meeting house, only thirty feet square, 
was crowded full, galleries and all. Long were 
the prayers, long the discourse, and psalm 
singing was not stinted. When the service at last 
concluded, late in the afternoon, as the congre- 
gation came out they lingered for exchange of 
greetings with friends from the other settlements, 
and there was more sedate visiting done than 
would have been countenanced on a Sunday. 


GOING TO THURSDAY LECTURE. 253 

Goodwife Ellis, giving Goodwife John Coleman 
hearty greeting, said, — 

“ Thy young minister, Mr. Atherton, is verily a 
pious, painful preacher. He hath given us a sound 
gospel treat to-day.” 

“ Yea,” added Goodman Ellis, “ ’t was a sermon, 
as the phrase in Old England is, that might have 
been preached at St. Paul’s Cross.” 

Goodwife Coleman was well pleased at these 
praises of her pastor. 

“ We of Hatfield deem him a sweet, affecting 
pastor, for one still so young. But though young 
in years, he is old in grace. He oft besiegeth the 
throne of grace for o’er an hour in prayer, with 
acceptance.” 

“ Goodwife Coleman,” said Goodwife Ellis, 
“ Prudence hath brought with her the Widow 
Burnham’s bound girl, Submit Carter, whom the 
widow was desirous should profit by the Lecture 
to-day. Will it be an inconveniency should she 
tarry at thy house with my daughters this even, 
till John come for them ? ” 

“ She is heartily welcome to remain,” said Good- 
wife Coleman. “ ’T was she that was so sorely 
bewitched not long since, was ’t not? ” 

' “ Yea, e’en so,” replied Goodwife Ellis. “But 
Satan hath left her for a season, and verily the 
child showeth many signs of a regenerate 
nature.” 


254 the young puritans of old hadley. 

“ My little Sarah hath talked oft of her since she 
met her at thy house, at the time when Father 
Coleman was called to go up higher,” said Good- 
wife Coleman. 

John Coleman’s house stood near the centre of 
the east side of Hatfield street. Young Hannah 
Coleman, who was about Prudence’s age, welcomed 
her guests gladly, while Abigail and Sarah giggled 
for joy at being once more together, and Sarah 
hastened to take Abigail out doors to play. 

66 1 know thou couldst not bring thy new London 
poppet on Lecture day, Prudence,” said Hannah, 
“ but I would thou couldst, ’t is so pleasing. I will 
e’en show thee mine, tho’ ’t is but a poor thing. 
I made her myself, after seeing thine, I wanted a 
poppet so sorely.” 

The girls were much interested in Hannah’s rag 
doll, which, in spite of the staring features depicted 
on its face in ink, bore only distant resemblance to 
the human form. But a child’s imagination could 
easily fill out whatever was lacking. Besides, the 
fair Huldah wore a beauteous cloak of figured red 
and white damask silk. 

“ She is a proper poppet,” said Prudence. “ But 
where didst get this bright cloak ? ” 

“ Young Mistress Hannah Lyman, of Northamp- 
ton, gave me the silk once when I visited at her 
father’s house with my mother. ’T is a bit of that 
brave gown that she wore to-day. Marked ye her 


GOING TO THURSDAY LECTURE. 255 

not, that comely damsel, sitting near the fore-seat 
on the women's side, so gayly attired ? ” 

“She with the spirited black eyes?” asked 
Prudence. “ She looked as if she cared not who 
saw her.” 

“Nor doth she,” said Hannah. “My mother 
deemeth her too much given to giddiness and new 
fangledness in dress and behavior. But I cannot 
help liking her, for she was so pleasant and kind 
to me, and I think this red cloak most desirable. 
My mother liketh not to see it, so I put it on 
Huldah only upon great occasions, as to-day, when 
I have company.” 

“’Tis most beauteous,” said Prudence. “I 
would Susanna could have one like it.” 

While the girls talked, Submit had been struck 
with a new idea. She said, — 

“ Prudence, I believe I could fashion me a poppet 
like Huldah, had I aught to make it of. And I 
should so love to have a poppet of mine own. But 
I well know that Widow Burnham would not give 
me any bits of linen to make it.” 

“ I will ask my mother to give thee some linen,” 
said Prudence, full of interest in this new plan. 
“ Then thou canst work on the poppet at our 
house whene’er thou comest up there to play, 
and I will gladly help thee.” 

The girls now went out doors with Huldah to 
play “ keep house.” Abigail and Sarah were no- 


256 the young puritans of old hadley. 

where to be seen, but presently Abigail came 
running up to Prudence from 'behind the barn, 
pulling her gown, and wanting her to come and 
see something, Prudence could not understand 
what. 

“ ’T is doubtless Sarah’s little fawn she wislieth 
thee to go to see,” said Hannah. 

“ A fawn ! ” exclaimed Prudence. 

“ Yea,” said Hannah. “ Last summer, when my 
father was on the mountain, he shot a deer, the 
mother of this fawn. He felt sorry for the poor 
little fawn, and brought it home to Sarah. We 
feed it milk and bits of bread, and ’t is so tame it 
followeth us everywhere, e’en around the house, to 
Sarah’s great glee.” 

The girls patted and played with the gentle 
fawn, a pretty, graceful creature, with great, dark 
eyes that had an almost human expression. Sub- 
mit looked pityingly at the motherless little crea- 
ture, half believing that she saw a loneliness like 
her own in its sad eyes. Sarah loved her fawn 
almost as much as she did her little new baby 
sister, Bethia, and Abigail could not tell which she 
wanted most, a tame fawn or a baby sister, so 
greatly did she envy the doubly fortunate Sarah. 

After supper, when Hannah and her brother 
Thomas walked down to the river bank with their 
guests to see them off, the fawn followed too. 
Abigail kept her arm around its neck, and laughed 


GOING TO THURSDAY LECTURE. 257 

with glee when it thrust its nose into her hand in 
search of a bit of bread. 

John was sitting in his canoe, waiting for them, 
and was not long in paddling his light load across 
the river, bright now with the reflected glory of 
the sunset sky. 

Submit, after this day of rare happiness, felt 
like a prisoner returning to her dungeon as she 
parted with Prudence at Widow Burnham’s door. 
But there was one consolation, the rag poppet ! 
Prudence’s last words, whispered cautiously, lest 
Widow Burnham hear, were, — 

“ Come up the first day thou canst, Submit, and 
I will have the linen pieces all ready, that we may 
begin the poppet at once.” 

As Submit entered the kitchen, it seemed darker 
and closer than ever, after her glad afternoon in 
the fresh outside world. Widow Burnham regarded 
fresh air as a dangerous poison, to be excluded as 
far as possible. 

The widow, who was sitting huddled over the 
fire, greeted Submit more cordially than usual. 
Alone all day in the almost deserted settlement, 
she craved a touch of the news and excitement of 
Lecture day. 

“ Put on thy old gown, Submit,” she said, “and 
wash the dishes, and red up the kitchen. Then 
thou mayst sit down by the fire, and tell me Mr. 
Atherton’s text, and about the Lecture, and who 

17 


258 the young puritans of old hadley. 

went, and what Goodwife Coleman said to thee, 
and what she had for supper. Did any one ask for 
me ? I thought to sit by the window and watch 
the folk come home, but I felt a sore draft 
there. I must stuff more rags into the chinks 
to-morrow morn.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


HUNTING FOR THE BAY MARE. 

O NE Saturday morning in late October, Sam 
and John, with Stephen Belding and 
Jonathan Wells, rode off to the southward in search 
of Philip Smith’s bay mare. Sam was delighted 
when Stephen and Jonathan offered to go with 
him, as they were older boys, and Jonathan espe- 
cially had much knowledge of woodcraft, having 
often gone out hunting with his older brother 
Thomas. 

The boys took the Springfield road through Fort 
Meadow, but left it before reaching Hockanum 
Meadow, and crossing Fort River, they passed the 
old Indian fort which gave the river and meadow 
their name, and began to ascend the lower slope of 
Mount Holyoke. The mountain rose before them 
bare and brown, save for the many hemlocks and 
pines, whose dark-green pointed tops still gave 
some verdure to its rock-ribbed sides. Now that 
the trees were bare, the slender trunks of the white 
birches became things of beauty, mingled among 
the evergreens. The mountain looked more rugged 


260 THE young puritans OF OLD HADLEY. 

and forbidding than when its boldness was softened 
by summer foliage. 

“I am glad, Jonathan, that thou couldst come, 
for thou knowest the pass through the crack of the 
mountain,” said Sam, looking up at the rocky 
heights above. u I have ne’er crossed it, and in 
truth know not its exact whereabouts ; and as for 
John, he is but a new-comer in these parts, as thou 
know’st.” 

“ I know the path well,” said Jonathan, u for I 
have been o’er it more than once in hunting with 
Thomas. We are wont to find game plentiful on 
the south side of the mountain, where there are no 
inhabitants as yet.” 

“ Doubtless that side will ne’er be settled,” said 
Stephen. “ The land is poor and sandy, compared 
to our river meadows. He would fare ill, 
methinks, who should forsake our fertile, open 
meadow lands, to go over there into the wilderness, 
covered with forests, which must be felled and 
cleared ere the land, e’en such as ’t is, is fit for 
use.” 

The boys rode on up the mountain in single 
file along the narrow footpath, made by hunters 
and animals in crossing the crack, beguiling the 
way with friendly talk as they fared on. The 
path was but poorly defined, and wound irregu- 
larly up among trees and rocks. Sometimes 
the reports of their guns rang along the moun- 


HUNTING FOR THE BAY MARE. 261 

tain side, and soon gray squirrels and partridges 
dangled at their saddle bows as witness to their 
skill as marksmen. 

The path grew steeper and rougher as they 
mounted higher. When, after a hard scramble 
that made the horses pant, they reached the 
summit of “ the crack,” the name given a low gap 
in the Holyoke range where it was possible to 
cross over into the forest to the south, Jonathan 
Wells drew rein, and leaping lightly down, 
said, — 

“ Well, lads, here we must e’en tie our horses, 
and go the rest of the way on foot. And here 
’t were best to eat our luncheons, to save carrying 
them.” 

“ An we had a fire,” said Stephen, “ we might 
eke out our dry fare savorily by cooking some of 
our game. I know not how ’t is with the rest of 
you, but scrambling up the mountain in this sharp, 
frosty air hath made me as keen as a trooper. 
Did any one bring a tinder box ? ” 

No one had, it seemed, and Sam said, — 

“ What a sorry numb-scull was I not to think of 
that ! ” 

“ Gather some dry pine branches and sticks,” 
said Jonathan, “ and it shall go hard but I ’ll kindle 
them for thee.” 

“Art a witch, like Goody Webster?” asked 
Stephen, jokingly. “ Have a care of any hocus- 


262 the young puritans of old hadley. 

pocus here, alone on the mountain, where ’t is 
said that Goody cometli full oft on her broomstick 
to hold midnight trysts with Satan.” 

“ This is honest woodcraft, as thou shalt 
speedily see,” said Jonathan, “ an I make it 
work. 

Plenty of dry, dead branches were scattered 
about, wrenched off in bygone winter storms, and 
the boys gathered a large pile, with withered 
brown leaves heaped up below for kindling. 

Then they watched Jonathan, as he stopped the 
touch-hole of his gun, and struck fire. The 
spark fell on the leaves, which blazed up quickly, 
kindling the dry sticks, and soon a bright fire 
blazed and blew about in the mountain wind. 

“ That is one of thy brother Thomas’s tricks, I 
dare say,” said Sam. 

“ Yea, he hath much wisdom in woodcraft, as he 
need have to venture forth alone in the wilderness 
as he doth,” said Jonathan. 

The boys dressed their small game with the 
deftness born of much practice, and then roasted 
it on pointed sticks over the fire. 

The scene was picturesque. To the north from 
the “ crack,” the Connecticut Valley, brown and 
bare now, stretched away to the northern hills, 
purple blue in the keen, clear air. The river 
wound through the meadows, blue in the sun- 
light, like the sky it reflected. To the southeast 


HUNTING FOR THE BAY MARE. 


263 


and west rose the rugged mountain chain, and 
below, to the south, was the far-reaching unbroken 
forest. The bareness of the trees gave a peculiar 
clearness and extent to the view. 

On the rocks jutting out above and around 
them stunted cedars and gnarled pines grew, 
to some of which the bovs’ horses were tied, 
contentedly munching the oats the boys had 
brought for them. Around the brightly blazing fire, 
alone here on the mountain, sat the four boys, clad 
in buckskin breeches and leathern doublets, wearing 
on their closely cropped heads rude caps made from 
the skins of foxes or minx killed and cured by 
themselves. Their guns lay ready to their hands. 
Their faces were red and glowing from the climb 
in the cold fresh air, and also from the blaze of 
their fire as they roasted their game. They were 
thinking less of the picturesque scene than of their 
dinner. 

“ This partridge relisheth well, e’en without 
salt,” said John, as he threw the bone of what 
had been a plump drumstick into the fire. 

“ Salt ! John, thou hast been pampered,” said 
Sam. “ Hast thou sojourned for a season at King 
Charles’s court that thou art so dainty ? Why, I 
am so near famished I verily believe I could eat 
these partridges and squirrels, fur, feathers, and 
all." 

“ Didst hear the tidings from Old England 


264 the young puritans of old hadley. 

brought by Mr. Tilton when he came from Boston 
yestere’en ? ” asked Stephen. 

“ Nay. What was it?” asked John, who still 
felt a strong interest in his old home. Letters 
were few and far between, and any news re- 
ceived was passed along from mouth to mouth. 

“ Samuel Bussell was telling me on ’t,” said 
Stephen. “ It seems that one from Old England 
hath recently come to Boston by way of Barbadoes. 
He left London in March, so ’t is late news. He 
saith that debauchery increaseth abominably, es- 
pecially at court, and it fareth ill with non-conform- 
ists. A scandalous play, called ‘ The Puritan,’ 
hath lately been enacted before King Charles and 
his lewd court, greatly delighting them. Plays, 
and masks, and dancing schools abound. The 
Bishops carry it with a high hand. They make 
every one stand bare in church, and they are set- 
ting up courts, and imprisoning all who speak 
against them or their ways. One non-conforming 
minister hanged himself lately, and another went 
distracted, such are the sorrows of the saints.” 

“ I am heartily glad that I am here and not 
there,” said John. “ Here we are free to worship 
God in the true way. And I like the wild life 
here. Would I be out on a mountain top like 
this hunting, were I in Old England ? I trow 
not.” 

“ Mr. Russell saith that doubtless awful judg- 


HUNTING FOR THE BAY MARE. 265 

ments are impending over Old England/' said 
Stephen. 

“ Didst hear that a two-headed calf was born in 
New Haven last summer?” asked Sam. “ Mr. 
Davenport writ my grandsire of it. He said he 
knew not what this omen might portend, but he 
apprehended it boded some dire ill to the Connec- 
ticut plantations.” 

“ It looketh ominous,” said Jonathan. “But 
see, yonder smoke riseth from the woods,” he said, 
pointing off to the southeast, where above the tree- 
tops curled a faint blue line of smoke, hardly to be 
seen save by eyes trained in forest life. 

“ I hope that doth not portend that Maquas are 
about,” said Sam. “ I should ill like to meet a 
party of them.” 

“ The Maquas come from the west, from Albany 
way,” said Stephen. “ This smoke doubtless 
cometh from a camp of some friendly Connecticut 
Indians. I hope they have not gotten hold of 
thy bay mare, Sam.” 

“ I doubt an I e’er lay eyes on her,” said Sam, 
as he looked off over the almost limitless expanse 
of wilderness below. “ It looketh a hopeless task 
to search for her in that vast forest.” 

“ Still there is no harm in trying,” said Jonathan. 
“ Thou mightst have the good fortune to chance 
upon her. And we ’ll have a day’s sport seeking 
her, I trow.” 


266 the young puritans of old hadley. 

The boys, refreshed by their luncheon, carefully 
beat and stamped out their fire, lest it spread to 
the woods and endanger their horses, which they 
must leave tied here until their return. 

“I ’ll e’en take a rope with me, in case I should 
by good luck chance on the mare,” said Sam. 

The boys struck down the mountain side into 
the pathless forest below. Owing to the annual 
burning by the Indians, and by the white hunters 
who followed the Indian custom, there was little 
underbrush. As the boys descended, coming from 
the evergreen belt higher up into the region of 
oaks, beeches, and chestnuts, in the woods below 
they heard an exciting sound ; simply “ gobble, 
gobble, gobble.” 

“ Wild turkeys ! ” exclaimed they as one boy. 

“ Tarry ye here,” said Jonathan, “ and I ’ll slip 
down and see if I can get a crack at them.” 

“ I ’d give a shilling for a shot at one,” said 
John. 

The boys stood still, watching Jonathan as he 
slipped cautiously from tree to tree, towards the 
oaks where the turkeys were probably feeding on 
acorns. The crack of his gun rang out. The flock 
of turkeys fled wildly up the mountain side right 
upon the three boys. 

Bang ! bang ! bang ! went three guns. Three fat 
turkeys fell. The rest disappeared as if by magic. 

“ Good shots for us,” said Stephen. “ If Jona- 


HUNTING FOR THE BAY MARE. 267 

than hath done as well, the folks at home will not 
deem this day wasted, I trow.” 

“ I know w^ell that my mouth watereth for roast 
turkey,” said John. “ ’T is long since I ’ve tasted 
flesh save pork and venison, or fish from the 
river, when I happed to have good luck at my 
fishing.” 

Jonathan came out from the wood below, bear- 
ing a huge turkey gobbler, a beautiful bird. His 
plumage was brilliant with shifting hues of golden 
bronze, blue, violet, and green. From his breast 
hung a tuft almost a foot long. 

a Here is the king of the mountain,” said Jona- 
than, triumphantly. “ This fellow weiglieth a 
good twenty pounds or more. T will be a weary 
tug to carry him, but ’t will pay well in the 
end.” 

The boys were in great spirits. Cattle and 
sheep were still so few and valuable that beef 
and mutton were almost unknown as food. Pork 
and fish, with such wild game as they could kill, 
furnished the meat of the settlement. 

As Sam, who happened to be ahead of the 
others, came out on a rocky place, where the trees 
were scattered but thinly, with few evergreens, 
he caught a fleeting glimpse down the aisles of the 
farther woods of some large animal. Halting, 
he reconnoitred cautiously. Was it a deer? A mo- 
ment more, and he called softly to the other boys : 


268 THE YOUNG PURITANS OE OLD HADLEY. 

“ Boys, I verily believe I see a horse yonder in 
the woods, and I am almost certain ’t is our Nan. 
Now how can we contrive to capture her, if it be 
indeed she ? ” 

“ ’T is likely,” said Jonathan, “ that hunger and 
scant pasturage were urging her towards home. 
We must try our best to surround her, and drive 
her up in the direction of the crack. If we can 
get her where she seeth the other horses, doubtless 
she will gladly go with them.” 

The boys, scattering off into the woods, gliding 
as slyly as Indians from tree to tree lest they 
scare the mare, managed to surround the spot 
where Sam thought he had seen her. Then, 
at a signal from Jonathan, in they all swept 
towards the centre. 

Out of the woods pranced the bay mare, head up, 
galloping straight for the crack of the mountain. 
She was not alone, for at her heels ran a bay colt, 
with a white forefoot, “ as dainty a little nag as 
e’er I laid eyes on,” cried Sam, delighted at his 
double good fortune. 

“ Father will rejoice greatly can we bring Nan 
and her colt home safely,” he said. 

“We will manage the business somehow,” 
said Jonathan, “though she is as wild and 
nimble as a deer. See, she hath already van- 
ished out of our sight among the pines up the 
mountain.” 


HUNTING FOR THE BAY MARE. 269 

“We must needs follow hard and fast, an we 
o’ertake her,” said Stephen. 

The boys scrambled up through the trees, Sam 
a little ahead in his eagerness. When he came 
in sight of their horses, lo, there was Nan rubbing 
noses in a friendly way with his horse, whinnying 
with delight at again meeting her old friend. 

Sam, with utmost caution, slipped quietly up 
behind her, and with a quick throw had the 
halter over her head before she saw him. Then 
began a struggle. 

When the other boys came up, Nan was 
plunging and rearing, pulling with all her might, 
while the colt, a wild creature of the woods that 
had never seen human beings before, ran wildly 
about, whinnying in terror at this strange disaster 
that had befallen its mother. The other horses, 
excited by the tumult, were also tugging at their 
tie reins, doing their best to get away. 

“ Ye got here none too soon,” panted Sam, 
breathlessly, “ would ye not go home afoot. My 
arms are nigh pulled off. The rope is skinning 
my hands.” 

“ I ’ll cut a stout switch, and let her have a taste 
of that,” said Stephen. 

“ Nay, not so,” said Jonathan. “To lash a 
frightened creature is but a poor way to soothe 
it. Give me the rope, and do thou, Sam, try 
feeding her. Her bones stand out with lean- 


270 THE young puritans OF OLD HADLEY. 

ness. Doubtless she hath found scant pasture of 
late.” 

Sain had still some oats left in the bag behind 
his saddle. Filling his cap, he held it towards 
Nan, crying, — 

“ Here, Nan, Nan.” 

At sight of the oats, Nan stopped her jumping, 
ran eagerly to the cap, and plunged her nose into 
the welcome feast, munching greedily, while 
Jonathan patted her side kindly. 

“ I warrant thou hast tasted naught so relishing 
as that since the new grass last spring,” said 
Jonathan. 

Sam, meantime, was smoothing her tangled 
mane, stuck full of burrs and twigs. 

“ She ’s a fine creature,” said Stephen. “ When 
thou gettest her fattened and curried, there ’s no 
finer beast on Hadley street. What a noble 
long tail she hath ! And her mane too is most 
full and long.” 

“ She is a real Narragansett pacer,” said Sam. 
“ That sort are most easy under the saddle. 
Father would be loath to lose her. And he will 
rejoice o’er the little colt, an we can manage to 
get it home.” 

When the boys started for home, Nan, tamer 
now since her good meal, and glad to be with the 
other horses, allowed herself to be led without 
much opposition. The colt came running wildly 


HUNTING FOR THE BAY MARE. 271 

along behind, terrified at these strange new 
monsters, men, yet clinging to its mother. 

Towards sunset, as they entered the south 
meadow gate, Sam said, — 

“ I shall take Nan and her colt up to our home 
lot. We must try to tame and break her, and fit 
her for use. And a little meal and oats will do 
her no hurt.” 

When John reached home, bearing his fat turkey 
and a good store of nuts in his bag, it was felt that 
his day had not been spent in vain. He said, — 

“ Prudence, Nathan, what present think ye Sam 
hath found in the forest ? A tiny wild colt, no 
bigger than a little fawn. Sam put her in their 
paddock.” 

The children were full of excitement and 
interest. 

“ Mother, may we go over e’en now and see the 
little colt ? ” asked Prudence, while Nathan seized 
his fur cap and stood with his hand on the latch, 
ready to start the instant his mother should say 
“yes.” For surely she could not say “ no,” when 
so important a matter as this was concerned. 

But Goodwife Ellis, with a firmness that encour- 
aged no teasing, said, — 

“ Nay, not to-night. The sun sinketh low, and 
the Sabbath Eve draweth on apace. Monday morn, 
an ye are all good children, and recite your cate- 
chism faithfully to-morrow, ye shall go.” 


272 the young puritans of old hadley. 

The children were almost certain that the colt 
would run away or disappear somehow before far- 
away Monday ; but well knew there was no help 
for their disappointment, and so, after supper, fell 
to studying their catechisms with more than usual 
diligence. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


THE GREAT BURNING. 

I T seemed long indeed to Submit before Widow 
Burnham felt her entitled to another holiday, 
after the Thursday Lecture at Hatfield. But finally 
came an afternoon when everything seemed done. 

There were no more rolls ready to spin, the house 
was in perfect order, Submit had finished the last 
one of a pair of stockings, and yet there were two 
hours before it would be time to get supper. 

Perhaps this advanced state of affairs had been 
brought about by the peculiar energy with which 
Submit had thrown herself into work that day. 
She now ventured to ask, — 

“ May I go up to Prudence’s to stay till supper 
time ? ” 

The widow, who had been racking her brain to 
think of something to set Submit at, said reluctantly : 

“ I see no reason why thou canst not. Only 
have a care that thou hinder not Prudence from 
work by thy idling. Shouldst thou find her at 

work, come thou straight home. I like not that 

18 


274 the young puritans of old hadley. 

Goodwife Ellis should deem me one to encourage 
idling.” 

“ Prudence hath always leave to play, when she 
hath done her stint,” said Submit. 

“ Mayhap,” said the widow. “ But I sorely 
fear that it is with thee as with the Youth in that 
instructive dialogue in the back of the catechism, 
who saith to the devil, — 

“ ‘Those days which God to me doth send, 

In pleasure I ’m resolved to spend ; — 9 

And, 

“ ‘So I resolve in this my prime 

In sports and play to spend my timed 

Mind thee how the devil answereth, — 

“ ‘ The resolution which you take, 

Sweet youth, it doth me merry make.’ 

Naught pleaseth the devil better than idling and 
playing.” 

The widow, having thus partly spoiled Submit’ s 
pleasure, felt complacently that she had “ been 
faithful ” to her. Submit listened in silence, and 
the moment she decently could, hastened to put on 
her cloak and hood, and slip out the door, draw- 
ins: a sigh of relief as she closed it behind her. 

She longed to run all the way to Prudence’s, but 
knowing that running on the street would scandal- 
ize some of the good folk, and would certainly cut 
off her chance of going to Prudence’s hereafter 


THE GREAT BURNING. 275 

should it come to the widow’s ears, she restrained 
her impatience, and only walked as fast as she 
dared, wondering if Prudence had obtained any 
linen for her poppet. 

She found Prudence sitting on her block before 
the fire, sewing on a hood for Susanna, making it 
from some pretty stuff that at once caught Submit’s 
eye. Abigail, sitting as close to her as Prudence 
would allow, was proud and happy in holding the 
lovely Susanna. 

“ I was wishing thou wouldst come to-day,” said 
Prudence, joyfully. 

“ Thou canst not tell how I have been longing 

O O 

to come,” said Submit. “ But what a rare piece of 
goods. Where didst get it ?” 

“ Is it not beauteous ? ” said Prudence. “ I am so 
glad that Susanna will have a silken hood, or almost 
silk. ’T is part linen, methinks. ’T was Mistress 
Hepzibah Wells that gave it to me. Was she not 
kind ? My mother saith as ’t is mostly sad-colored, 
with only this tiny red sprig in it, and part linen, 
she thinketh no harm in my using it. And I have 
saved enough for thy poppet a hood, too ! ” 

“ Oh, Prudence, I thank thee ! ” said Submit, 
delighted to own even a tiny scrap of anything so 
pretty. 

“ Mother will give thee linen for a poppet, and 
we will straightway go to work on it. Nathan 
hath saved a piggin full of sawdust from the chip- 
yard to stuff her.” 


276 the young puritans of old iiadley. 


Here Goodwife Ellis appeared from her bedroom, 
a roll of coarse linen pieces in her hand. 

“ I know not if Widow Burnham will relish thy 
having a poppet, Submit. But it seemeth useful 
to me in teaching little maids to sew. Prudence 
hath made vast headway in her sewing since she 
hath stitched so diligently and carefully for her 
poppet. T is to promote industry and not idleness 
that I give thee the linen, and so thou mayst tell 
the widow.” 

In truth, Goodwife Ellis was partly justifying 
herself to herself, for she knew that, secretly, her 
gift was prompted quite as much by sympathy for 
the lonely, motherless child as by zeal for her 
improvement. It is pleasant to give pleasure, and 
the happy look on Submit’s face, and her shining 
eyes as she eagerly thanked her, well repaid the 
good wife for her little kindness. 

A happy afternoon did the children have, as 
Submit skilfully fashioned the rag doll, with the 
active help and interest of Prudence and Abigail. 
Submit had a strong even though dormant artistic 
faculty, and her delight in creating something was 
new and keen. 

The doll, when done, was nearty as well formed 
as Susanna, and her features, marked with ink, 
had really some human expression. 

Prudence could not enough admire her friend’s 
skill. 


THE GREAT BURNING. 


277 


“ I see not, Submit,” she said, “ how thou earnest 
to think of putting that splint of wood underneath, 
to raise up her nose. And thou hast made her 
mouth to smile, and her hair to curl ! Verily, she 
is as comely — almost — as Susanna ! ” 

“ Next summer I shall stain her cheeks red with 
berry juice,” said Submit, looking fondly upon her 
child. “But I must tarry no longer now. I must 
hasten home. I will leave Francesca here, — her 
name is Francesca, thou knowest, — till her gown 
and hood are fashioned. I wot thou wilt keep her 
carefully for me. Some time I will make thee a 
dear little poppet of thine own, Abigail, if thy 
mother is willing.” 

Little Abigail began to dance about for joy at 
this. Her mother, checking her, said, — 

“ Quiet, quiet thee, Abigail. If thou art a good 
child, I will gladly suffer Submit to fashion thee a 
poppet, and then thou needst not tease Prudence so 
sorely for hers.” 

Submit went home with a new happiness in her 
heart. 

“Well, how didst pass the time?” asked the 
widow. 

“ We sewed,” said Submit, not thinking it wise 
to go into details of her afternoon’s work. 

“ Goodwife Ellis is a wise and prudent woman. 
She traineth up her children in the way they should 
go,” said the widow. 


278 the young puritans oe old hadley. 

The days dragged to Submit until she was again 
allowed to go to Prudence’s. But at last another 
happy afternoon was spent in making Francesca’s 
clothes. When she was dressed, Prudence thought 
her more lovely than ever, and so in truth did 
Submit. 

She walked home that night holding Francesca 
tenderly in her arms. At last she had something 
of her own to love. Indeed she so loved Francesca, 
that she half believed Francesca loved her in return. 

On the way, she chanced to meet Mistress 
Hepzibah Wells. 

u Good even, Submit,” said good-natured Mistress 
Hepzibah, more kindly than most people were wont 
to accost Submit. “ What bearest thou so care- 
fully ? ” 

Submit proudly displayed her poppet, saying, — 

“I made her myself.” 

“ In sooth, ’t is an excellent piece of handiwork,” 
said Mistress Hepzibah, holding up the poppet 
admiringly. “ Thou hast skill. Verily she is the 
comeliest rag poppet I e’er laid eyes on. An thou 
canst come across to our house a moment, I ’ll e’en 
give thee somewhat to trim her.” 

Submit could not resist this invitation, and her 
lively anticipations of something pretty from Mis- 
tress Hepzibah were more than realized when she 
brought out a strip of narrow red ribbon, saying 
kindly, — 


THE GREAT BURNING. 279 

“ ’T will match the sprig in her hood, and serve 
for a scarf.” 

The bright color of the ribbon seemed to satisfy 
a hungry craving in Submit ’s nature. But know- 
ing well that Widow Burnham was certain to 
frown on the red ribbon, even if she tolerated the 
doll, Submit felt it prudent to tuck it down the 
neck of her gown, ere she entered the house, 
with some inward quakings as to Francesca’s 
reception. 

The widow greeted the poppet with more vio- 
lence than Submit — fortified as she was by 
Good wife Ellis’s approval, and the general admi- 
ration of her work — was prepared for. 

“ I looked not for such sinful extravagance in 
Goodwife Ellis,” said the widow, with scornful 
sniffs. “ I marvel at her ! To waste good scraps 
of linen, that would have served to clout garments, 
on a useless, silly poppet ! She will have to 
answer to her own conscience, and to an angry 
God I doubt not also, for such wicked wastefulness, 
and for countenancing thee in sin. But I am 
responsible for thy soul, and thy sins shall not be 
on my skirts. I will not suffer thee to make 
images, contrary to the commandment which saith 
‘ thou shalt not make unto thee a likeness of any- 
thing that is in heaven above, or in the earth 
beneath.’ Give me the image. I will e’en burn 
her, as Moses burnt the golden calf that caused the 


280 THE young puritans OF OLD HADLEY. 

people of Israel to sin. She shall be a burnt offer- 
ing unto the Lord.” 

The widow attempted to pull the doll out of 
Submit’ s arms, but stopped, terrified at the change 
that came over the child’s face, which was trans- 
formed by passion. Her eyes blazed fiercely, and 
pressing her doll tighter to her bosom, she cried, 
with a storm of tears, stamping her foot. — 

“ Thou shalt not burn my child, thou wicked 
old hag ! An thou layest so much as a finger 
upon her, I ’ll bewitch thee in good earnest ! I 'll 
send dreadful pains darting through thee, I ’ll 
double thee up with cramps, I ’ll ask Satan to drag 
thee off to his own place, I '11 — ” 

Here Submit stopped, choked with rage and 
tears. 

She looked so desperate, that the widow, who 
more than half believed in her power of bewitch- 
ment, made haste to say, — 

“ Take the vile thing away, thou bad, wicked 
child, I care not whither, so ’t is out of my sight. 
Ne’er let me lay eye on it again, or hear tell on ’t. 
And then come and read some chapters in thy 
Bible, and see if that will exorcise the evil spirit 
in thee.” 

Submit flew up the rude stairs into her attic 
chamber and tenderly placed Francesca in her own 
little truckle bed. 

“ There, there,” she said caressingly, “ thou shalt 


THE GREAT BURNING. 


281 


not be burnt. I will burn with thee an thou 
must.” 

By the time she went to bed, her anger had 
cooled, and she began to feel heartily sorry and 
ashamed. What would her kind friend, Granny 
Allison, have thought, had she seen her in such a 
rage ? Granny had said that she was never to 
mention Satan or bewitchment again. And would 
Goodwife Ellis deem her a fit playmate for Pru- 
dence and Abigail, had she heard her language to 
the widow ? 

“ Great God, my Father in heaven, who knowest 
all things, who knowest how hard it was, pardon 
my sin for Christ’s sake, and help me to be a better 
girl,” was her tearful prayer that night. As she 
took Francesca in her arms and tenderly kissed 
her, she said, — 

“ I have been most wicked for thy sake, my dear 
child. But I love thee so.” 

She fell asleep with Francesca clasped tight to 
her heart, the bit of red ribbon tied, scarf-wise, 
around the poppet’s linen neck. 

In the morning, her conscience, grown more 
tender of late under the influence of love, would 
not let her rest until she had begged the widow’s 
pardon. Hard indeed was it to speak the words, 
but something within forced her to say, — 

“ Widow Burnham, I beg thy pardon for the 
rude words I said to thee y ester even.” 


282 the young puritans of old hadley. 

The widow, who was skimming milk, paused, 
skimmer in hand, and looked in surprise over the 
big round horn spectacles that bestrode her nose ; 
then she said, — 

“ Hoity toity, my fine mistress ! So you have 
come to your senses, have you ? Go to thy churn- 
ing now, and have a care after this how thou darest 
to use pert, saucy words towards thy betters.” 

In spite of this ungracious reception of her 
apology, Submit’s heart felt lighter for making it, 
because her conscience told her that she had done 
right. All day as she toiled, underneath was the 
thought brightening her drudgery, that up stairs 
Francesca waited her coming, and that to her she 
could tell all her troubles. 

It was this same night that Hannah Smith could 
not go to sleep, for some unknown reason, possibly 
from too hearty a supper of baked beans. As she 
tossed restlessly on her bed, she noticed a strange 
red light on the boards of her ceiling. A red glare 
lighted up her window too. 

Thinking the light supernatural, at first she 
buried her head under her sheet, with fast beating 
heart, listening breathlessly for something awful, 
she knew not what ; perchance a black cat with 
red eyes jumping on her bed, or a mysterious 
voice. But all was so still that finally she ven- 
tured to peep out. The red glare was evidently 
stronger. 


THE GREAT BURNING. 


283 


“ Perchance some one’s house is in flames,” 
thought Hannah. “ I must e’en venture to the 
window. ’T is plainly my duty to look out, that I 
may give the alarm, an needs be.” 

Leaping out of bed, with a fearful glance over her 
shoulder, Hannah ran to the window. What she 
saw there filled her with greater terror than before. 
The street lay in deep quiet below, no house was 
burning, yet all the bare tree limbs and houses 
gleamed red, with a greater light than any house 
in flames could give. Even the clouds in the sky 
shone with a fiery angry crimson. 

There could be but one explanation in Hannah’s 
mind of this sight. This must be the awful last 
great conflagration, which Mr. Atherton had pic- 
tured vividly on Lecture day, and portended might 
be near at hand. Filled with awe and terror, she 
burst into her parents’chamber, crying loudly, — 

“ Oh, father, mother, waken ! The end of the 
world hath come ! ’T is the day of judgment ! 
The world burneth up ! ” 

Her startled parents woke, and as soon as they 
could understand Hannah’s cries, hastened to the 
window. Half asleep, at first they too were filled 
with awe. But when Goodman Smith had become 
fully awake and collected his senses, he said, — 

“ Now I bethink myself that Thomas Wells told 
me, Wednesday se’nnight, that he and others of our 
hunters and youth were going out ere long for 


284 THE YOUNG PURITANS OE OLD HADLEY. 

the Great Burning, as they call it, when they burn 
the underbrush in all the woods and mountains. 
’T is doubtless the light of the great burning that 
we see reflected on the sky.” 

“ I trust no harm will come of it,” said his wife, 
anxiously scanning the red sky. 

“ ’T is much to be feared that some among 
them of the wilder sort will use the occasion as 
license for folly,” said Goodman Smith. “ But, 
although happily it be not the terrible fires of the 
last conflagration that smote upon thy eyes, my 
daughter, and caused thy amazing cries, let this 
be a solemn warning to thee, and to us all, of 
that great and awful day of doom, that cometh 
we know not how soon, when the earth shall melt 
with fervent heat, and the firmament roll up as a 
scroll. Let us beseech God to keep us ever 
prepared, for it cometh like a thief in the night.” 

The next day was November fifth, as the youth 
of the settlement were not slow to remember. 
Some of the wilder spirits among them, inspired 
perhaps by a desire to renew the delights in a 
small way of the Great Burning of the night be- 
fore, determined to celebrate the day in a proper 
manner, feeling in secret that here was at least 
one chance to let themselves out safely. 

They built a huge bonfire at the north end of 
Hadley street. Some of them paraded up and 
down the street a scarecrow figure, dressed as a 


THE GREAT BURNING. 285 

guy, with a lantern in its hand, singing, or rather 
shouting uproariously, as they inarched, — 

“ Remember, remember ! 

The fifth of November, 

The Gunpowder treason and plot ; 

There is no reason 
Why the Gunpowder treason 
Should ever be forgot ! ” 

John Barnard, whose turn it was to pace the 
street as watchman that night, was in attendance 
to see that the celebration was kept within due 
bounds. He stood looking on with disapproval, 
yet feeling that a degree of license was perhaps 
permissible on the fifth of November. 

But ere long up the street stalked Mr. Peter 
Tilton and Noah Coleman, two of the townsmen, 
accompanied by Deacon Goodman and Philip 
Smith. 

“ What meaneth this immoderate rioting in our 
sober community ? Watchman Barnard, art here ? 
We looked to find thee perchance slumbering at thy 
post, when the uproar of this unseemly revelry 
smote upon our ears, as we were engaged in 
prayer at the house of Goodman Ellis,” said Mr. 
Tilton, severely. 

“ Nay, not so, worshipful Mr. Tilton,” said John 
Barnard. “ I trust I shall ne’er be found wanting 
in my duty. But thou knowest the custom hath 
long been observed both in Old England and in 


286 the young puritans of old hadley. 

this country, of commemorating the overthrow of 
the Gunpowder plot. My father hath oft told me 
of the huge bonfires in Lincoln Inn Fields the 
fifth of November, when oft times two hundred 
cartloads of wood were blazing in one great pile. 
Though I favor not such carryings on myself, 
I judged some license must be suffered in our 
youth this night.” 

“ Tis little they reck of the fifth of November, 
or any other day. ’Tis seized upon as a cover for 
looseness,” said Philip Smith, sternly. “ Maudlin 
chants and indecent roistering suit not the godly 
inhabitants of Hadley. Put out thy fire, Joseph 
Selden, and go thou and thy comrades home and 
to bed, thankful an ye be not hauled up before the 
magistrate for disturbing the peace.” 

Joseph Selden made no movement towards 
obeying this mandate, but grumbled in a surly 
undertone, — 

“What concern is ’t of that marplot, Philip 
Smith, an we have a little sport ? Methinks he is 
not in authority o’er us. He delighteth to nose 
around, and spoil sport.” 

But here Noah Coleman seconded Philip Smith 
decidedly, saying, — 

“ E’en now the bell ringeth for nine o’ the clock ; 
time that all decent folk were home and abed. 
Such license will not be countenanced. ’T will 
lead to no good. Put out the fire, and get ye 


THE GREAT BURNING. 287 

quietly and decently home, or Mr. Tilton and I 
will soon have Constable Ferry here.” 

The fire was now quenched, and the surly 
rioters dispersed, grumbling not a little among 
themselves at the iron hand held over them. 

“ I swear I ’ll get even with Philip Smith yet,” 
said Selden. “ He ever beareth a special spite 
against me. But I’ll pay the old snook off.” 

The Ellis children had been delighted with 
Cousin Philip’s little colt, and it was only the 
morning after the Guy Fawkes celebration that 
Prudence asked, — 

“ May we go o’er to Cousin Philip’s again this 
morn, mother, to see the colt ? ” 

“ Yes, child,” said her mother, with unwonted 
indulgence. “ Thou canst carry to Cousin Rebecca 
some of my fresh emptyings which she craved. 
Tarry not o’er long. Hasten back speedily to thy 
tasks. Nathan, thou mayst go too. Thou didst 
exceeding well in thy catechism yesterday for one 
of thy years, though thou didst need some prompt- 
ing on ‘ effectual calling.’ Take little Abigail 
with thee, and lead her carefully.” 

“ We will hasten, mother,” said Prudence, as 
she joyfully tied on Abigail’s hood. 

The children walked briskly, for it was a cloudy, 
raw November day, a cold wind which swept down 
* from the northwest with unbroken force across 
the wide meadows roaring through the naked 


288 the young puritans of old hadley. 

branches of the trees with a wintry sound. Their 
cheeks and noses too were red when they reached 
Cousin Philip’s, where his little daughter Rebecca 
ran out to meet them. 

“ Oh, Prudence, what dost thou think ? ” said 
Rebecca. “ A shameful thing hath been done. 
Thou canst not e’en fancy what ’t is.” 

“ The little colt is not dead ?” asked Prudence 
and Nathan in one breath. 

“ Nay, ’tis not so bad as that,” said Rebecca. 
“ But come out to the paddock, and ye shall e’en 
see for yourselves.” 

A sad sight greeted the children when they 
reached the paddock. The beautiful, thick, long 
mane and flowing tail of the bay mare had been 
sheared off close. The poor creature, seemingly 
conscious of her disfigurement, was huddled in one 
corner of the paddock, with a wild, hunted look 
in her brown eyes, the pretty little colt nestling 
close to its mother. 

“ Who could have done such a wicked deed ? ” 
asked Prudence. “ Was it Indians, think’st thou ? ” 

“Nay. Father hath evidence that ’twas the 
revengeful work of that son of Belial, Joseph 
Selden. He hath breathed out sore threatening 
of late against my father. Doubtless he slipped 
into the paddock last night, when we were asleep. 
He was in a great rage because my father broke 
up his riotous burning of Guy Fawkes yestere’en. 


THE GREAT BURNING. 289 

Father will have him presented for this offence 
next March, at the court at Northampton.” 

“ And serve him right,” said Prudence. “ ’T is 
a cruel shame.” 

“ Joseph Selden ought to be set in the stocks, 
or cast into Springfield prison,” said Nathan. 

“ Doubtless he will be,” said Rebecca. “My 
father will make him smart for it.” 

Nathan tried to entice the colt to intimacy by 
picking handfuls of grass and thrusting through 
the palings, calling, — 

“ Co-nan, Co-nan, Co-nan ! ” 

But the mare and the colt only bounded in wild 
terror round the paddock, the mare seeking a 
place where she might leap out, and return to 
her wild life in the woods. 

“ Come away, Nathan,” said Prudence. “ Thou 
only fillest the poor things with fright.” 

The children went home, full of this last fla- 
grant offence of Joseph Selden. Their father 
shook his head, saying, — 

“ I deemed no good could come of yestere’en’s 
rioting. Give Satan but an inch, and he is ne’er 
slow in taking an ell.” 

The next day Joseph Selden was hauled up 
before Magistrate Clarke, and cited to appear at 
the March court to answer for his proceedings. 


19 


CHAPTER XX. 


UNWELCOME GUESTS. 

O NE night at dusk, early in December, John 
Ellis came running into the house, snap- 
hance in hand, banging the door after him with 
unusual noise. 

“ Tut, tut, my son,” said his mother. “ What 
aileth thee ? Why this unseemly haste and 
violence ? ” 

“ ’T is grievously cold, mother,” said John. “ I 
have been o’er on the Pine Plain with Sam and 
Jonathan, to examine our wolf pits. Not a wolf 
have we caught. I verily believe the wolves them- 
selves are frozen. ’T is piercing cold. The wind 
is northeast, and cuts like a knife. I was so sore 
chilled that I must needs run, e’en though the tith- 
ing man did see me.” 

John wore no overcoat or cloak, but his usual 
dress of thick doublet of gray duffle belted at the 
waist, buckskin breeches, coarse woollen hose, 
stout, clumsy shoes fastened with broad buckles, 
and his fur cap pulled well over his ears, red with 
cold. 


UNWELCOME GUESTS. 


291 


“ ’T were well to put another log on the fire, and 
then sit in the chimney seat till thou art well 
toasted,” said his mother. “ There hath been a 
biting draft this afternoon around the door and 
windows. I could scarce keep my feet warm e’en 
at my spinning.” 

u Jonathan predicteth that a snowstorm cometh, 
which causeth it to be so chilly. The sun set early 
in a gray cloud which crept up the sky from the 
south. Jonathan said ’t was a snow bank,” said 
John, throwing a big log on the fire so vigorously 
that he sent a shower of sparks flying up the cav- 
ernous black throat of the chimney. 

“ I would I had as many shillings as there are 
sparks yonder,” said Nathan, craning his neck to 
watch the bright sparks fly up. 

“ T is idle wishing vain wishes,” said his mother. 
“ Shillings come not by wishing, but by toil and 
economy. Granny Allison said this afternoon that 
the sputtering of the fire prognosticated snow. I 
like not o’er much the coming of the snow,” she 
added. “ I dread the long winter in this New 
English country, when we shall be wholly cut off 
from the world for so weary a time. The post 
cannot go to Boston again till late spring-time.” 

“ Methinks ’t will be long ere we see the pretty 
spring blossoms again,” said Prudence, who sat in 
one corner of the settle before the fire, holding 
Abigail on her lap, while the happy Abigail held in 


292 the young puritans of old hadley. 

her lap Susanna, brave in her best cloak and 
hood, her bead-like eyes glistening in the firelight 
until Abigail fancied they really winked. 

“ See, Prudence, do but look ! Susanna wink- 
eth at the pretty sparks ! ” she said, with a merry 
little laugh. 

Goodman Ellis had come in from the barn in 
season to hear his wife’s last remarks. 

“ Goodwife,” he said, “ bethink thee of the ex- 
ample thou settest our children, by thy murmur- 
ings against the wise orderings of Providence. I 
oft fear that thou hast thy seasons of looking back 
towards Sodom, like unto Lot’s wife. God, who in 
His loving kindness hath brought His people out 
into this wide place, will watch o’er them in winter, 
e’en as in summer. Saith not Scripture, ‘ He send- 
eth the hoar frost as wool ’ ? So verily ’t is in good 
truth, for those who have sojourned here during 
the winter season tell me that the snow is craved 
by them as a warm cover for the grass and herbs. 
But why sit our children here with idle hands in 
sloth ful ness? ” 

“ ’T is blindman’s holiday,” replied his wife. 
“ It seemed to me not wise to waste our store of 
candlewood while waiting for thee to come to 
supper, as the fire lights the room amply for my 
work.” 

“ Let us to supper then, that there be no more 
vain expense of precious time,” said her husband. 


UNWELCOME GUESTS. 


293 


The children stood around the rude, uncovered 
table, scoured white with rushes and sand from the 
river, while their father made the Ions; evening: 
prayer. In the centre of the table Goodwife Ellis 
placed a large earthen pan. Into it she emptied 
hasty pudding, hot from the pot hanging on the 
crane over the fire, and milk from another pan. 
All ate from the same pan, with the pewter spoons 
cast by John in the mould bought by him at Mr. 
Pynchon’s, save Nathan and Abigail, who used 
smaller wooden spoons carved by their father. 

The light from the blazing logs in the huge fire- 
place danced with a warm glow through the room, 
reflecting brightly from the modest store of pewter 
that glistened on the dresser’s shelves, and sending 
quaint shadows flickering all over the dark, low 
ceiling from the strings of dried apple and pump- 
kin, bunches of herbs, and various utensils dan- 
gling from poles fastened to the rough-hewn 
beams. 

The hot hasty pudding relished well this cold 
night, especially to John, warming him through 
and through. Indeed, in his hunger, he ate so 
rapidly as to alarm Nathan lest he should not get 
his own share, and he whined, — 

“ My spoon is so little, I cannot eat so fast as 
.John” 

“ There is no need of greediness,” said his 
mother. “ Make no haste, John. There is good 


294 the young puritans of old hadley. 


store of pudding yet in the pot, ample for supper, 
and also to fry for breakfast.” 

After Scripture reading and singing a psalm, all 
took up their evening occupations. 

Goodwife Ellis, having lighted a splinter of fat 
candlewood, set it up in the corner of the room on 
a flat stone to catch its resinous drippings, and 
then resumed her spinning, the wheel whirling 
with a cheerful hum as she stepped lightly to and 
fro, keeping it swiftly turning by deft strokes of a 
wheel-finger. 

“Knit industriously, Prudence,” she said, “and 
perchance thou mayst finish thy stint in season to 
read some in your father’s 4 Book of Martyrs’ 
before bedtime.” 

Abigail sat on a block near the candlewood splint, 
enjoying the rare privilege of looking at the cuts 
in Fox’s “ Book of Martyrs.” Lieutenant Smith 
had lately sent to Boston by Nathaniel Warner on 
his last trip as post this year, and purchased this 
book, which he had presented to his kinsman in 
return for certain services Goodman Ellis had 
rendered him. 

Except the Bible, the psalm book, the New 
England Primer, and John’s Latin Accidence, this 
was the only book in the house, and a much prized 
treasure. 

Prudence’s fingers flew swiftly, and her needles 
clicked and flashed in the firelight, the le^ of 

0 7 O 


UNWELCOME GUESTS. 


205 


Abigail’s stocking rapidly growing long, in her 
haste to get hold of this fascinating volume, — 
fascinating because it was “ adorned with cuts.” 
Prudence never failed to shudder with horror 
over the rude pictures of the saints being sawn 
asunder, boiled in oil, drawn in twain by wild 
horses, or otherwise tormented. Still, pictures are 
pictures, and children are children, and it was 
with delight that Prudence at last put away her 
knitting, and lost all knowledge of her surround- 
ings as she pored over the black-lettered text, hard 
to decipher. 

“ Father,” she asked presently, “ wouldst suffer 
me to loan this book to Submit ? I have told her 
so much of it, she longeth sorely to see it.” 

“ Submit can read but poorly, methinks,” said 
Good wife Ellis. “ She goeth not to the dame 
school.” 

“ Doth not Widow Burnham instruct her at 
home, an she sendeth her not to the dame 
school ? ” asked Goodman Ellis, looking up from 
the corner by the fire where he was fashioning a 
wooden shovel, Nathan helping by handing his 
tools, and throwing the shavings in the fire, 
delighting in the u brave blaze” they made. 

“ Nay,” said Goodwife Ellis. “ The widow 
* saith that book learning is not needful for a girl, 
above all, for a bound girl.” 

“ Our townsmen must look to this,” said her 


296 the young puritans of old hadley. 


husband. “ Such barbarism is not permitted 
among us, that children should be suffered to grow 
up in ignorance. The widow will be presented at 
court for this negligence, as Goodman Granger of 
Sufheld was last session, an she have not a care.” 

“ Submit longeth grievously to go to Dame 
Twitchell’s with me,” said Prudence. 

“ Granny Allison said to-day that she would 
admonish the widow on this matter shortly,” said 
Goodwife Ellis. 

John sat before the bright fire astride a big 
wooden shovel, on whose iron-clad edge he rasped 
ears of corn, the corn rattling off briskly into a 
wooden measure below. When the measure was 
full, John brought from the buttery a large 
wooden mortar, made from the trunk of a tree 
set upright, with one end hollowed out to hold 
corn. 

Into this mortar, copied by the settlers from 
those used by the Indians, John put some of his 
corn, and began pounding it with a stout wooden 
pestle, to crack it into hominy for to-morrow’s 
supper. 

Watch had lain peacefully snoozing before the 
fire, his head between his paws. Suddenly he 
lifted his head, with ears sharply pricked up, and 
began growling fiercely ; then ran to the door and 
barked loudlv. 

Goodwife Ellis stopped her wheel. 


UNWELCOME GUESTS. 


297 


“Hush, John,” she said. “ Watch scenteth 
some one ; and methinks I hear something at the 
door. Tis nearly nine at night, o’er late for any 
one to be stirring, unless there is illness.” 

Goodman Ellis opened the door, and peered 
into the outside darkness. Even he was startled 
for an instant to find two tall, dusky Indians 
standing on his doorstone. 

Although the Hadley settlers had, so far, lived 
in peace with their Indian neighbors, still they had 
a feeling of insecurity, a sense that it was not safe 
to place too much reliance upon their professions of 
friendship. 

“ Netop,” grunted the Indians, crowding into 
the warm kitchen without waiting for an in- 
vitation. 

“ Netop, Nuxco,” replied Goodman Ellis, recog- 
nizing one of the Norwottucks from the Indian fort 
on the west side of the river, within Northampton 
boundaries. “ What brings Nuxco and his comrade 
from their wigwams at so late an hour ? 

“ It is dark and cold crossing the great river, 
and Nuxco and Wequanunco would sleep by the 
Englishman’s warm fire to-night,” replied the 
Indian. 

Little Abigail was already sound asleep in her 
- truckle bed in her mother’s bedroom. Prudence 
waked suddenly from the delightful horrors of 
Fox’s Martyrs to the real horror of seeing these 


298 the young puritans of old hadley. 

two dark, wild-looking savages huddled in their 
blankets, who towered so tall in the low-ceiled 
kitchen that the feathers stuck in their black hair 
brushed against the beam overhead. 

She longed to beg her father not to allow the 
Indians to stay. She was in the habit of seeing 
Indians hanging about the settlement, especially 
since the cold weather, and knew that they often 
spent the night in the settlers’ houses, but this was 
the first time any had demanded hospitality of the 
Ellises. 

Goodman Ellis did not eagerly welcome these 
self-invited guests. He hesitated, and looked 
dubiously at his wife, who shook her head. But 
he knew it was not considered wise to offend the 
Indians, in whose savage minds a slight or insult 
rankled long, never failing to be avenged. So 
finally he said, — 

“ Thou art welcome, Nuxco, and thou, Wequa- 
nunco, to tarry here to-night. Good wife,” he added, 
“ canst give our guests some supper ? ” 

The Indians were not long in greedily swallow- 
ing the hasty pudding which Goodwife Ellis had 
reserved to fry for breakfast. 

Prudence made haste to slip off upstairs to her 
bed, feeling some protection from the fact that no 
one could enter her chamber without first passing 
through John’s. 

O 

When John came up, somewhat later, she was 


UNWELCOME GUESTS. 299 

still awake, and called to him through the crack of 
her door in a loud whisper, — 

“ John, please shut fast thy door, and push the 
heavy chest against it.” 

“ Thou art but a foolish child, Pruda, ’ said John, 
“ to be so afeared at sight of an Indian. Thou 
seest them daily, and thou knowest well that they 
are harmless.” 

“ But for all that, I relish not the sight of them,” 
said Prudence. “ 1 know not why, but my blood 
creepeth in me as if I had trod on a serpent at 
sight of one.” 

“Thou likest Awonusk well,” said John. 

“ Awonusk is different. She is kind and friendly, 
though she be but an old squaw. She gave me a 
goodly little basket one day, when mother gave her 
a dinner. But these huge, dark savages fill me 
with fright. Please push the chest against thy 
door.” 

“ T is done, silly one,” said John. “ Thou canst 
rest easy.” 

The two Indians rolled themselves up in their 
greasy blankets, and lay down on the kitchen floor, 
their feet to the fireplace, where the great bed of 
coals left by the consumed back-log, carefully 
buried in ashes to keep fire over night, still sent 
out a grateful warmth. 

Soon all, Indians and whites, were fast asleep. 
The last sound drowsily heard was the watch- 


300 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 


man’s steady tramp, tramp, as he paced to and 
fro, and his voice chanting in a professional 
monotone, — 

“ Past ten o’ the clock, and a cold, cloudy 
night ! ” 


CHAPTER XXI. 


WINTER IN EARNEST. 

W HEN Prudence woke the next morning, it 
was very cold. Her nose felt cold, 
even in bed, and her sheet was stiffened by her 
frozen breath. A cold gray light filled the low 
chamber. 

“ It must be full early yet,” thought Prudence. 
“ The sun hath not risen.” 

But soon she heard John dragging: a fresh back- 
log into the kitchen below, and knew it must be 
time for her to rise. Springing out of bed, and 
seizing her clothes to jump into them as quickly as 
possible that she might get downstairs into the 
warm room, her eyes, glancing out the window, 
saw the air full of driving snowflakes, whirling, 
leaping, criss-crossing in a wild dance that dazzled 
her to look upon. Snow was already piled high on 
the window sill, and lay thick on the ground below 
as far as she could see. She could not see far, 
however, for the thick, whirling mist of snow- 
flakes, which almost cut off even the sight of Fran- 
cis Barnard’s house next door. 


302 THE young puritans OF OLD HADLEY. 

Prudence felt excited by the glorious storm. 

“ ’T is most pleasing. I like it. My mates and 
I will have merry sport in the snow, I trow,” she 
thought. “ I hope, though, that those fearsome 
Indians have gone ere this.” 

But when she came downstairs, there sat the 
Indians toasting themselves before the warm fire, 
evidently altogether too well contented to think of 
stirring out into the driving storm. Nor did the 
savory odor from a large pot of bean porridge 
boiling and bubbling on the crane incline to hasten 
them away. They sat sniffing its fragrance, watch- 
ing the pot with greedy eyes. 

Good wife Ellis was getting breakfast as fast 
as she could with the Indians sitting in her way, 
and Abigail clinging to her skirts and tagging her 
every step, peeping around her mother at the 
Indians, with large fearful eyes. 

Prudence followed her mother into the buttery, 
, and whispered cautiously, — 

“ Mother, will not my father send those dreadful 
savages away speedily after breakfast ? ” 

“ We must wait their own motion, my child, 
I fear. ’T is verily a grievous trial to my patience 
to have these filthy savages lingering about here 
in my clean kitchen under foot, but ’ t is not 
prudent to anger them. The other women of the 
settlement have oft to endure their presence. 
We must e’en bear uncomplainingly our portion 



But when she came downstairs, there sat the Indians 
toasting themselves before the warm fire.” 



WINTER IN EARNEST. 


303 


of whatever trials God seeth fit to send upon us 
sojourners here in the wilderness,” said the mother, 
with a patient sigh. 

Prudence said no more. Puritan children early 
learned that one must do one’s duty, and bear 
submissively trials sent by God. But she regarded 
their guests with much distaste, and wondered 
at John, who was talking to them, examining 
with interest a pair of snowshoes belonging to 
Wequanunco. 

“Wequanunco, wilt show me how to make a 
brave pair of snowshoes for myself ? ” asked 
John. 

“ Humph,” grunted Wequanunco. “ Has the 
English boy strips of the deer’s skin, and stout 
walnut wood ? ” 

“ Yea,” said John. “ My strips are all cut and 
ready. Look,” and lie brought his strips of dried 
deerskin from where they hung on a wooden pin 
behind the buttery door. 

Wequanunco examined the strips. 

“ Good,” he said. And “ Good ” again, when 
John brought in a supple strip of walnut sapling. 

But now breakfast was ready. The Indians, eager 
to be eating, wondered much in their own minds 
at the foolishness of the white man's customs, 
as Goodman Ellis, with a special eye to the 
“possible salvation of their souls, read a longer 
Bible chapter than usual, and made a long prayer 


304 THE young puritans OF OLD HADLEY. 

too, beseeching the Lord to bless this opportunity 
of hearing the gospel to these benighted souls, 
to open their blind eyes and thaw their cold 
hearts, even as many of their brethren had 
received saving light from the blessed ministry of 
God’s chosen messenger to the wilderness heathen, 
that savory and pious saint, Mr. John Eliot. 

Meanwhile the tempting porridge steamed up 
aggravatingly under the very noses of the hungry 
Indians. When Goodman Ellis at last concluded 
his prayer, he said graciously, — 

“ Nuxco and Wequanunco, I trust this provi- 
dential opportunity of knowing the true God may 
be blessed to your everlasting salvation.” 

Wequanunco gave a grunt of dissent, and 
Nuxco said, — 

u Nuxco follows the God of his fathers. He 
knows not the Englishman’s God.” 

Goodwife Ellis did not ask the Indians to the 
table, but brought to them where they sat by 
the fire large pieces of rye bread, and pewter 
porringers full of steaming porridge in which 
swam fat lumps of pork. More than once was 
she obliged to refill the porringers, the Indians 
following their usual habit of stuffing when in 
the midst of plenty. If a season of starvation 
followed, they tightened their belts, and bore it in 
grim patience. 

The wind roared ferociously through the bare 


WINTER IN EARNEST. 


305 


branches of the trees and down the chimney, and 
the snow blew and drifted about the house with no 
sign of lessening. Yet Prudence was anxious to 
go to her school, chiefly to escape from the presence 
of the two Indians, who sat in lazv content before 
the fire, showing no signs of departing ; but her 

mother said, — 

✓ 

“ Nay, my daughter, thou must needs tarry 
at home to-day. ’T would not be prudent for 
little maids to venture forth in so sore a storm. 
Thou canst take the quill wheel and fill some 
quills for the weaving I begin to-morrow. 
Perchance Abigail can help thee somewhat. So 
thou wilt lighten my labors.” 

John was divided in his mind between a desire 
to stay at home and work on his snowshoes while 
he had Wequanunco’s for a pattern, and the 
temptation to go forth and battle with the 
storm. In the part of England where he had 
lived, he had never seen so great a snow. But 
his father decided the matter for him by 
saying, — 

“ John, the storm need not hinder thy going forth 
to thy school. Our youth here in the wilderness 
must early learn to endure hardness, and I would 
not have thee lose e’en one day of the fruitful 
..instructions of that godly and learned young man, 
Master John Younglove. In truth,” he added, 
glancing out the window, “ ’t is verily a mercy 

20 


306 THE young puritans OF OLD HADLEY. 

that we hauled our portion of wood to the school- 
house ere this great snow fell.” 

John, like all the large boys in the settlement, 
attended the Hopkins Grammar School, kept down 
near the other end of the long street in the house 
which Nathaniel Ward had lately left to the town 
for the use of the school. The master was Mr. 
John Younglove, who had preached at Quabaug a 
short time before coming to Hadley, and who later 
became the minister at Suffield ; and the Hadley 
parents felt themselves favored in securing the 
services of so learned and godly a young man as 
they deemed him to be. 

Each parent had to contribute his share of the 
great stack of about sixty cords of wood, piled up 
near the schoolhouse door, cut in four foot lengths 
ready for the huge fireplace, and destined to keep 
off some of the piercing cold of winter. 

John’s studies were reading in the Bible and 
Psalter, Latin grammar, and a little arithmetic. 
Samuel Russell and other boys fitting for Harvard 
College added Greek to these studies. In addition, 
every Saturday afternoon, two hours were spent 
bj 7 Master Younglove in examining the boys in the 
catechism. 

John, at his mother’s suggestion, muffled his ears 
in a gray woollen scarf, twisted around his head 
and neck, and tied behind. Then he plunged out 
into the snow, already a good foot deep on a level, 


WINTER IN EARNEST. 307 

with drifts several feet deep in spots exposed to 
the full fury of the blast. 

One such drift was by the paling. As John 
plunged through it, turning to throw a big snow- 
ball at the window, where Nathan was peeping 
wistfully out after him, Nathan said, in an 
aggrieved tone, — 

44 I would I might go out to my school in the 
snow, as John doth. I trow I am not a girl, to be 
coddled up in the house.” 

44 Nay, my son,” said his mother, smiling kindly 
at him, 44 thou art too little. Thy short legs 
would sink out of sight in those huge drifts. I 
doubt an Dame Twitched keepeth any school to- 
day. Be a good boy, and by and by I will hear 
thee say thy a-b-abs.” 

This promise did not comfort Nathan as much as 
his mother seemed to expect. He said, in rather 
scornful tone, — 

44 I love not my primer. And I am past a-b-ab 
long since. I can e’en spell 4 age ’ and ‘ babe ’ and 
4 cat.’ May I not go out to the barn and help 
father ? He swingleth flax to-day.” 

44 Yea, thou mayst go,” said his mother. 44 May- 
hap thou canst go in thy father’s track, an it be 
not already buried up.” 

„ Nathan was a long time travelling the short 
distance to the barn, improving the opportunity to 
make plenty of tracks on his own account, wading 


308 THE young puritans OF OLD HADLEY. 

and wallowing about in the snow to his heart’s 
content, until he was white from head to foot, 
greatly to the interest and admiration of Abigail, 
who was watching him from the back window, 
and for whose special benefit he threw in several 
extra capers. 

At noon the Indians were still there to enjoy 
their full share of the dinner of boiled pork and 
turnips, stewed dried peas and home-brewed beer. 
Nor had they gone at night when John, who had 
carried a luncheon, came home from school, barely 
able to struggle through the great drifts, above 
the palings in places. 

As soon as he had stamped and brushed off the 
snow that whitened him all over, John fell to 
work on his snowshoes, whose making; his father 
approved as something likely to be of use. 

A little before sundown the snowstorm began 
to show signs of stopping. The flakes grew 
smaller and fewer, and finally ceased to fall. The 
gray clouds broke and rolled away to the east, and 
the sun, low down over the western hills, shone 
forth with one last burst of splendor. After the 
long, gray day, its radiance on the fresh fallen 
snow was almost more than the eye could bear, 
and the beauty of the scene was inspiring. 

“ Get thy shovel, John,” said his father, almost 
jovially. “ Our neighbors are all at work, I see, 
and it becometh us not to be sluggards.” 


WINTER IN EARNEST. 


309 


To Goodwife Ellis’s unspeakable joy and relief, 
her Indian visitors now slowly gathered themselves 
up and departed, silently, with no word of thanks 
to their hostess. Binding snowshoes on their 
moccasoned feet, they walked oft across the un- 
broken snow down the centre of the street towards 
the river. To John’s admiration, their feet sank 
but a few inches in the light, fresh snow, on 
which their snowshoes left a long, fish-like track. 

“ I ’ll e’en finish my snowshoes this even, ere 
I sleep,” thought John, as he threw the snow out 
faster than ever. 

At the river’s bank, the Indians dug out a canoe 
from under the snow, and, crunching through the 
white skim of ice on the edge of the water, paddled 
swiftly off towards their fort on the Northampton 
side. 

Goodwife Ellis set wide the front door for a 
moment, the better to air the kitchen, letting the 
long, level rays of the setting sun pour into and 
glorify the room, and lingered in the door for a 
few moments of rare idleness, to draw deep breaths 
of the pure, snowy air, and to watch the lively 
scene without. 

The wide street, so lately deserted and lifeless, 
was now alive and astir its whole length. Across 
..the street were the Wells and Porter boys, the 
Dickinsons and Philip Smith’s sons, filling the air 
with flyingsnow as they threw it out in high banks 


310 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

each side the paths they shovelled ; while her own 
neighbors, the Barnards, and John Church, Samuel 
Boltwood, and the rest, were as briskly at work. 

All were animated by the snow and the clear, 
cold air. There was unusual talk and laughter. 
Now and then a boy ventured to stop and send a 
quickly massed snowball flying at some other boy, 
who was not slow in paying his enemy back in his 
own coin. Even Goodman Ellis smiled indulgently 
at these pranks. 

Prudence and Abigail, to their delight, were 
allowed to go out into the freshly shovelled path, 
high above Abigail’s head. 

“ Oh, mother,” said Prudence, “ I see not why 
thou didst dread the snow. It is so goodly. See, 
every branch and little twig is heavy laden with it, 
like down, and it all gloweth pink, like the wild 
roses ! ” 

The sunset had been followed by a deep purple- 
pink afterglow, that, beginning in the east, flushed 
the whole sky, turning to rosy hues the few fleecy 
white clouds still floating above, and reflecting a 
delicate pink upon the pure unbroken fields of fresh 
fallen snow. Mount Holyoke, covered with snow, 
caught also the rosy tint of the afterglow, and 
shone in the southeast with rare beauty. 

Above the western horizon the evening star shone 
brilliantly, and overhead sailed high in the radiant 
sky the white half moon. Through all the beauty 


WINTER IN EARNEST. 


311 


seemed to breathe God’s peace and love. So felt 
Good wife Ellis, as the pink afterglow brightened 
her face too, and she replied, — 

“ Yea, Prudence, thou art right. God’s loving 
care is over all His works.” 


CHAPTER XXII 


THE DAME SCHOOL. 

T HE sun shone radiantly next morning, and 
there was nothing to prevent Prudence and 
Nathan from setting forth for the little school 
which Dame Twitchell kept in her own house for 
the girls, and a few of the small boys. 

Prudence wore a gray cloak coming almost to 
her feet. Her close gray hood kept her ears cosy 
and warm, but gave no protection to her eyes, 
which blinked, half-blinded, in the dazzling glare 
of the sunlight reflected from the expanse of glis- 
tening snow over the wide street, broken only here 
and there by straggling paths. 

Coming out her yard, she almost ran into her 
Cousin Hannah, who, with her brothers Ebenezer 
and Pelatiah, was also bound for Dame Twitchell’s. 

“Why, Prudence, art blind?” asked Hannah, 
laughing. 

o o 

“ In truth, I verily am,” said Prudence. “ The 
sun on the snow maketh me blink like an owl or a 
bat.” 


THE DAME SCHOOL. 


313 


“ I have something sad to tell thee,” said Hannah, 
as they walked along. “Hast heard ’t is sorely 
feared that my little cousin Ichabod, Uncle Philip's 
babe, is bewitched ? Yesterday he cried grievously 
all day, without any cause. My aunt thinketh 
Goody Webster hath a hand in it. She searched 
the babe all over for witch-pins. Though she found 
none, there were sundry red marks on his body 
where doubtless he hath been pricked.” 

“ ’T is a cruel deed in Goody Webster to torment 
that innocent babe. I wish our townsmen would 
order her out of town,” said Prudence, glancing 
down the Middle Highway, where the very smoke 
rising from Goody Webster’s chimney seemed to 
curl and writhe in uncanny, snake-like forms. 

“ I doubt not she rideth forth gayly from that 
chimney top on her broomstick with her black cat 
behind her full many a night, to keep her evil tryst 
with the devil, perchance in the forest on top 
Mount Holyoke. Yon is as handy a place for her 
to reach as any,” said Hannah. 

“ Lo, there is her black cat now!” cried 
Prudence. 

Goody Webster’s cat was indeed picking her way 
daintily along the top of the paling, deftly balanc- 
ing herself, as she stopped to shake the snow from 
her feet. 

The boys had been throwing snowballs all the way, 
at each other, the girls, the trees, everything hitable. 


314 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 


“ Ha, there ’s the witch’s boon companion ! See 
me hit her, Ebenezer,” cried Nathan, at the same 
time letting a big snowball fly with such good aim 
that it tumbled the cat oft into a deep snowdrift. 

“ Nathan Ellis ! thou naughty, wicked boy ! ” 
gasped Prudence. “ See what thou hast done. Run 
quickly and pick up the cat ere the witch see her 
in that sorry plight.” 

“ I thought not I could hit her so surely,” said 
Nathan, a little scared himself at his exploit. 

He hurriedly scrambled into the drift, pulled out 
the struggling cat, and replaced her on the paling. 

“ She hath clapper-clawed me soundly for my 
pains,” he said, drawing off his mitten and show- 
ing a long scratch on the back of his hand, to the 
girls’ horror. 

“ Nathan Ellis ! ” they exclaimed in chorus. 

“ That scratch may kill thee,” said Prudence. 

“ ’T is doubtless envenomed,” said Hannah. 

“ Pooh, what care I for the old witch and her 
cat ? I fear her not,” said Nathan, bracing his 
courage by boastful words. 

“ Of course boys would not care for her, — very 
much,” said Ebenezer, not without an uneasy 
glance towards the witch’s house. 

“ Let us talk no more of the witch and her black 
doings,” said Prudence. “ It maketh me shudder 
e’en in daylight. An no harm cometh of thy 
scratch, Nathan, thou hast made a lucky escape.” 


THE DAME SCHOOL. 315 

“ Hath thy friend Submit suffered bewitchment 
of late ? ” asked Hannah. 

“ Nay. But she pineth grievously this winter. 
Widow Burnham saith she is valetudinarious. Why, 
lo, there she cometh now, out of the widow’s door ! 
Dost think it credible that the widow suffereth her 
to go to school ? 

Submit’s face, that looked so small and thin and 
pinched in its close gray hood, lit up with joyful 
smiles as she saw the other girls coming down the 
street. 

“ Oh, Prudence,” she said, “ is not Granny Alli- 
son most kind? I do love her. She hath per- 
suaded Widow Burnham to send me to dame 
school ! I am so glad to go.” 

“ And I to have thee go,” said Prudence. 

Submit’s joy in going to school rose partly from 
her delight at escaping anywhere for a few hours 
from the widow’s hot, dark kitchen and her con- 
stant oversight, and from natural pleasure in the 
companionship of other children, but partly, also, 
from a real eagerness to learn. 

She carried a New England Primer^ and said to 
Nathan, who with Ebenezer trudged on ahead of 
the girls, their small fur caps not coming to the 
top of the high banks of snow either side the 
. path, — 

“ Thou seest, Nathan, great girl as I am, I must 
be in the primer class with thee and Ebenezer.” 


316 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 


u Ho,” said Nathan, 44 that ’s nothing. I trow 
boys know vastly more than girls.” 

44 Nathan thinketh so much of himself because 
already he spelleth 4 babe ’ and other words of four 
letters,” said Prudence. 44 He is puffed up with 
pride.” 

44 Ere long, Mistress Prue, I shall go to the 
grammar school with the big boys, and learn to 
write,” said Nathan. 44 Girls cannot go to the 
grammar school, or learn to write.” 

44 Pray, what care we?” asked Hannah. 44 We 
are well rid of the pains of learning, methinks. 
Girls have no use for writing.” 

44 I would I could learn to write,” said Submit. 
44 And I would gladly learn Latin, and Greek too, 
were it permitted to girls.” 

Prudence gazed at her friend in amazement. 

44 Thou wast ever a strange girl, Submit,” she 
said. 

44 1 see not what putteth such new-fangled notions 
into thy head,” said Hannah. 44 A girl studying 
Latin, forsooth ! ” 

44 1 only wish I could take Francesca to school 
too. I know she would joy to go,” said Submit, 
who, as she breathed the pure, exhilarating air, 
thought with a pang of her cherished child, stifled 
in the close chest upstairs where it seemed prudent 
to keep her during the daytime. 

“ Thou wouldst soon see what Dame Twitchell 


THE DAME SCHOOL. 


317 


would do, an thou shouldst venture to bring a pop- 
pet to school/’ said Hannah. “ ’T is plain thou 
knowest but little of school.” 

“ She keepeth a brave bundle of rods ready to 
her hand to trounce evil doers/’ said Nathan. 

“ Yea, that she doth/’ affirmed Ebenezer. 

“ Nathan and Ebenezer know that full well,” 
said Prudence. 

The children had now reached Dame Twitchell’s 
house, and filed quietly into the closet where they 
left their outer garments, discussing her methods 
no more. 

Mistress Tabitha Twitched was a thin, wiry, 
energetic widow of three score, who added to her 
small income by keeping during the winter what 
was known as a u dame school ; ” one in high 
repute among the Hadley parents as a “ true New 
English woman,” a grave and sober person thor- 
oughly versed in and fully believing Solomon’s 
precepts , 66 A whip for the horse, a bridle for the ass, 
and a rod for the fool’s back,” and “ Pie that spar- 
eth the rod hateth his son ; but he that loveth him 
chasteneth him betimes ; ” one sure to bring up 
children in the way they should go. Her pupils 
often had cause to wish she did not bear them so 
zealous an affection. 

Her school was the only one in Hadley for girls. 
Here they were taught to read, sew, knit, and 
embroider samplers : all the learning considered 


318 THE YOUNG PURITANS OF OLD HADLEY. 

necessary for girls. After finishing the New 
England Primer they read in the Bible, the 
universal and only reader for both boys and girls. 

Submit looked with interest around the dame’s 
large kitchen and living room combined, which 
was also the schoolroom. About twenty girls 
and a few little boys sat on blocks or backless 
wooden benches around the room on the neatly 
sanded floor. A blazing fire in the huge fireplace, 
which nearly filled one side of the room, fed by 
logs furnished by the children’s fathers, thriftily 
boiled sundry of the dame’s pots hanging on the 
crane, and at the same time scorched the 
children’s faces, while yet their backs were cold. 
This was not felt to be a hardship, but rather a 
matter of course, none of the children having 
known any greater comfort. 

Near the fireplace, conspicuous on a wooden 
pin in the wall, hung a large bundle of rods. 
From other pins and the poles resting in hooks 
beneath the beams dangled hanks of blue yarn, 
bunches of dried herbs, strings of dried apples and 
peppers, etc. 

Mistress Twitchell, believing literally that 

“ Satan finds some mischief still 
For idle hands to do,” 

not only kept her pupils busy, but either knit or 
spun herself, as was most convenient, while teach- 


THE DAME SCHOOL. 


319 


ins* them. The first exercise was reading:. While 
all took turns in reading, she knit briskly. 
Then she set the girls to work on their samplers. 
They being well started, she said, — 

“ Nathan, do thou and Ebenezer con thy cate- 
chisms diligently. Thou knowest, Nathan, that 
when I asked thee yesterday, ‘ Wherein consists 
the sinfulness of that estate whereinto man fell ? ’ 
thou didst show a woful ignorance more becoming; 
a young heathen than a Christian child, brought 
up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.” 

Nathan and Ebenezer immersed themselves in 
their catechisms with buzzing lips, and the dame 
turned her attention to the still smaller boys. 

“ Pelatiah and Ephraim, take your hornbooks, 
and note carefully ‘ P,’ ‘ Q,’ and 4 R,’ that ye 
may recite them glibly when I point at them. 
Mind your books, all of ye. Let me see no idle 
dawdling or sinful waste of precious time.” 

Ephraim Wells was almost the youngest scion 
of the numerous Wells family, which ranged 
all the way from Thomas, the husband of Hep- 
zibah, down to Ephraim’s successor in the cradle, 
baby Joshua. Ephraim and Pelatiah Smith were 
congenial friends, and fully agreed in detesting 
their hornbooks, to which nevertheless they felt 
it wise to seem to apply themselves. 

A hornbook was a coarse sheet of paper, pasted 
on a thin board, containing the alphabet and the 


320 THE young puritans OF OLD HADLEY. 

Lord’s prayer, and covered with transparent horn 
which showed the letters through, but preserved 
the paper from soiling or wear. There was no 
possible diversion in a hornbook, as Ephraim and 
Pelatiah knew full well : no pictures to look at, no 
leaves to roll or tear, no cover to pull off. 

Dame Twitched having thus set all her pupils 
busily to work, herself began to spin. Briskly as 
her wheel hummed, she failed not to look often and 
sharply over her round horn spectacles towards 
the corner where the boys sat^The girls she knew 
she could trust, for not only were they much older 
than the boys, but also they were happily engaged 
in working on their samplers, their only fancy- 
work, and far more to their taste than the plain 
sewing on which so much time must be spent. 
There were the various fancy stitches, the 
elaborate borders, and the most advanced pupils 
were even embroidering with colored crewels stiff 
roses in still stiffer flower-pots, or rectangular 
dogs and trees. 

o 

Mehitable Porter, who excelled in sewing, was 
putting the finishing stitches to a family genea- 
logy embroidered in black silk, with a colored 
border ; a work of art not to be enough admired 
by the other girls, and which Mehitable’ s mother 
hoped to have framed when done. 

Submit worked with pleasure at the cross-stitch 
marking letters which Mistress Twitched had 


THE DAME SCHOOL. 


321 


given her to copy. With her artist instinct for 
creating, she eagerly anticipated the time when 
she too should be allowed to use colored crewels in 
making flowers and fanciful borders. 

u Methinks I could make a prettier rose than that 
Hannah copieth,” thought Submit. “ I wonder 
if Dame Twitchell will suffer me to make a rose of 
mine own sometime?” 

Widow Burnham, foreseeing the advantage of 
having Submit able to mark linen for her, had 
urged special diligence on the sampler, even 
suggesting that Submit bring it home nights, to 
improve any possible idle moments in working on 
it. So for once Submit’s tastes chimed with the 
widow’s will. But she thought to herself, — 

“ Perchance ’t were wiser not to let the widow 
know that I love to work on my sampler, lest she 
forbid my doing it, as a sinful diversion.” 

For a while the room was a scene of quiet 
diligence. The hum of Mistress Twitchell’s wheel 
might have been the buzzing of a giant bee in 
this hive of industry. There was loud buzzing too 
from the lips of Nathan and Ebenezer, as they 
repeated over and over the words of whose mean- 
ing they had not the faintest idea, stopping some- 
times to refresh themselves by a peep at the 
.pictures in the front of the primer. 

True, they knew those pictures by heart ; still, 

they were more interesting than the catechism, 

21 


322 the young puritans of old hadley. 

and, moreover, they were a stolen pleasure, having 
the natural fascination of all forbidden fruit. 

Ebenezer, happening to see Dame Twitchell’s 
hack turned, as she put a fresh bunch of wool 
on her distaff, cautiously kicked Nathan, whis- 
pering, — 

“ This is the best cut of all.” 

He pointed to the tiny woodcut, illustrating — 

“ Zacclieus lie 
Did climb a tree 
Our Lord to see.” 

Zaccheus was depicted quite as large as the tree 
from which his body stiffly protruded. 

“ Pooh,” answered Nathan, in a discreet whisper, 
“ I like this far better ; I would I might have seen 
that happen,” pointing to 

“ Proud Korali’s troop 
Was swallowed up.” 

KoralTs troop were disappearing stiffly in the 
yawning earth, their arms all raised high above 
their heads. 

“ Had I been one of them, I would have run 
speedily away, and not have been swallowed up,” 
said Ebenezer. “ They were but a stupid troop, 
methinks.” 

So absorbed was Ebenezer that he did not notice 
Dame Twitchell’s keen eye fixed on him over her 


THE DAME SCHOOL. 


323 


shoulder. Before he even knew that he was ob- 
served, with one swift stride, as it seemed to the 
startled Ebenezer, she pounced upon him, and 
seizing him by the ear, twitched him out upon the 
floor. 

“ Thou art verily a pernicious idler, Ebenezer 
Smith. Doubtless Satan desireth to have thee, 
that he may sift thee like wheat. An thou canst 
not this very instant repeat the answer in the 
catechism, thou shalt have a sound basting, I 
promise thee. Now tell me,” continued Dame 
Twitchell, severely, taking down the bunch of rods 
as she spoke, Wherein consists the sinfulness of 
that estate whereinto man fell?’” 

Confused by the suddenness with which he, 
like “ Proud Korah’s troop,” had been “ swallowed 
up,” Ebenezer began, in faltering accents, — 

“ ‘ The sinfulness of that estate whereinto man 
fell consists in-in-the guilt of Adam’s first sin — ’ ” 

So far, it was comparatively smooth sailing. 
But when it came to “ the want of original right- 
eousness,” and “ corruption,” and “ actual trans- 
gressions,” and the other big words, Ebenezer 
stammered painfully, and finally came to a dead 
halt, stuck fast. 

“ < Withhold not correction from the child ; for 
.if thou beatest him with the rod, he shall not die,’ ” 
said the dame, quoting her favorite authority, 
Solomon. “Come here, Ebenezer. I must e’en 


324 the young puritans of old hadley. 

deal faithfuly with thee, as though thou wert my 
own son.” 

The dame laid on and spared not, plying the 
rod so energetically about Ebenezer’s legs that he 
hopped and danced for pain. Nor could he help 
crying aloud, though he tried hard not to, lest the 
other boys laugh at him, and call him a “ puling 
babe.” 

“ Let us have no squeakings or grumblings,” 
said Dame Twitch ell, when she at length paused, 
her face flushed with her vigorous exercise. “ Bet- 
ter suffer a moment here than fall into the clutches 
of the Evil One forever and ever. None shall 
accuse me of unfaithfulness to thy soul. Sit thou 
here, with a dunce cap on thy head, and see if 
that will aid thee to master thy catechism.” 

Ebenezer was plumped down on the dunce block 
in the centre of the floor, wearing a tall, pointed 
paper cap, on which was inscribed in large letters, 
“ DUNCE.” 

The industries of the room went on, not greatly 
disturbed by what was a common incident. Eph- 
raim and Pelatiah had taken a sort of fearful 
pleasure in the scene, any diversion being a wel- 
come relief from the loathsome dulness of their 
hornbooks. They now bent themselves upon 
those detested books with fresh energy. 

Ephraim had not the most remote idea which of 
the uninteresting crooked black marks before him, 


THE DAME SCHOOL. 


325 


glaring at him through the horn like enemies (as 
they were), was supposed to be “ P” or “Q” or “ R.” 
Dame Twitchell would certainly switch his legs if 
he could not tell. Warned by Ebenezer’s fate, he 
felt that something must be done. 

Watching cautiously until he saw the dame with 
her back turned, bending over his big sister Mary 
to show her a new stitch, he ventured to lean 
towards Pelatiah, who was a bright scholar, gener- 
ally knowing his letters, and ask, — 

“ Canst tell me the names of these hateful letters, 
Pelatiah ? ” 

“ I know 6 Q ’ by its curly tail,” whispered back 
Pelatiah, who regarded “Q” with approval, as a 
more frisky letter than his fellows, an “ 0 ” with 
a touch of fun in him. 66 But 4 P ’ and ‘ R ’ pass 
my knowledge. I know not one from t’ other.” 

“ Thou dar’sn’t balance thy hornbook on thy 
head like this, Pelatiah Smith,” whispered Eph- 
raim, seizing the rare chance for a little sport, as 
he balanced his hornbook on his head, with a cheer- 
ful grimace at Pelatiah. 

Alas, Dame TwitclielTs quick ears caught the 
faint sound of whispering. She wheeled about, 
and the hornbook fell with a loud bang on the 
floor from the head of the dismayed Ephraim. 

“ Ephraim Wells, thou art both idling and whis- 
pering,” said the dame, sternly, at the same time 
reaching for her ever ready rod. 


326 the young puritans of old hadley. 

A coward instinct seized Ephraim. Anything to 
escape the impending whipping. 

“Nay, Mistress Twitched, I whispered not,"’ he 
stammered, with a shame-faced look that belied his 
words. “ I only chanced to drop my hornbook as 
I studied.” 

Ephraim was ashamed to look at Pelatiah as he 
said this, for Puritan children well knew that lying 
was one of the most dreadful of sins. 

“Ephraim Wells,” said the dame, with a stern 
frown, “ come here. Satan loveth a liar above all 
other sinners, because he knoweth his own. Know- 
est thou not the portion of them that make a 
lie?” 

She made Ephraim repeat after her twice the 
fifteenth verse of the last chapter of Revelation. 
Then, from her dresser, she took down a fat 
earthen pepper box, with large holes. 

“ Thrust out thy tongue,” she commanded. 

Ephraim obeyed, and the dame sprinkled the tip 
of the small tongue liberally with red pepper. 
Ephraim began to howl, holding his burning mouth 
with both hands. 

“ ’T is hotter than that in hell,” said the dame. 
“ Mind thee of that, when next the devil tempt- 
eth thee to lie. I mercifully burn thy tongue 
a little now, lest by and by thou burn forever in 
the bottomless pit, ‘ where their worm dieth not, 
and their fire is not quenched.’ Now I ’ll e’en make 


THE DAME SCHOOL. 327 

an example of thee, where all can see and take 
warning.” 

The dame printed the word “LIAR” in large 
letters, which she pinned to Ephraim’s breast. 
Then she wound a strong hank of blue yarn 
under his arms, and hung him up on a stout 
wooden pin on the wall. Pelatiah was too fright- 
ened to dare laugh at Ephraim’s forlorn situa- 
tion, but bent all his energies to preparing for 
his own hour of trial, striving to guess which of 
those puzzling letters might possibly be “ P ” and 
which “ R.” 

As Ephraim dangled there, it was not his burning 
tongue, or his disgrace before the school, or the 
discomfort of his dangling legs that troubled him 
the most. It was the word “ Liar ” on his breast, 
and the fear that the devil might indeed claim his 
own, as the dame had darkly predicted. 

When school closed that night, Ephraim did not 
stop with the other little boys, to see and help 
about a snow fort on a large scale which they 
found the big boys from the grammar school build- 
ing on the town lot, next to Parson Russell’s 
house. 

The walls of the fort, under the boys’ busy hands, 
were rising fast, and Sam Smith hailed Ephraim, 
as he hurried along, — 

“ Hold fast, Ephraim. Why art in such haste? 
Shortly we are going to have such a stout battle 


328 the young puritans of old hadley. 

’twixt the Pequots and the settlers as thou ne’er 
took part in. We need more forces, and thou 
mayst be one of the settlers, and help defend the 
fort.” 

Generally Ephraim would have greatly ap- 
preciated this rare honor of being urged to take 
part in the sports of the big boys; but to-night 
he only said, as he hastened on, — 

“ I cannot tarry to-night, Sam.” 

Ephraim hurried home, away from the danger- 
ous neighborhood of Goody Webster’s house, at 
which he glanced fearfully as he passed it, think- 
ing he saw her face at the window pane peering 
out at him with wicked glee. More than once did 
he look over his shoulder to see whether possibly 
the devil might not be on his track, ready to 
seize him. 

He was so downcast, and ate so little supper 
that night, that his mother said, — 

“ Ephraim, thou seemest valetudinarious. I 
trust it may not be the beginning of smallpox. 
Thou must take a good portion of physic.” 

Ephraim could contain himself no longer, but 
burst forth into loud crying, and confessed the 
whole story of his sin. 

His father took him apart, and after a solemn 
prayer that this chastisement might be blessed to 
the salvation of his son, soundly whipped him and 
put him to bed. 


THE DAME SCHOOL. 


329 


Although the whipping hurt his body, Ephraim 
felt relieved and comforted in his mind ; as if 
somehow his confession had settled the account, 
and he were safe for this time from the clutches 
of the devil. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


FOREBODINGS OF WAR. 


LTHOUGH Nathan had carried himself with 



X~\. so brave a face before the girls about the 
scratch from the witch’s cat, yet many a time that 
day did he look ruefully at the long red mark, 
which smarted badly, and think of that familiar 
verse in the primer where Death, a grim skeleton, 
scythe in hand, says to the giddy youth, — 

“ Youth, I am come to fetch thy breath, 

And carry thee to tli’ shades of death ; ” 

and also the conclusion : 

“ Thus end the days of woful youth 
Who won’t attend, nor mind the truth; 

Nor hearken to what teachers say, 

But do their parents disobey.” 

He thought too about another verse in the 
primer that had often given him an uncomfortable 
feeling, — 


“ I in the burying place may see 
Graves shorter there than I ; 


From death’s arrest no age is free, 
Young children too must die.” 


FOREBODINGS OF WAR. 


331 


“ I ’ll e’en ask my mother to-night if Granny 
Allison may look at my hand,” thought Nathan. 

So subdued was he by a sense of his probably 
approaching end, that he was unusually sedate 
during school all day, so much so as to attract 
Dame Twitchell’s attention, who said at night, — 

“ 1 marvel at thee, Nathan Ellis. Thou canst 
carry thyself soberly enough an thou choosest, 
and be a bright and shining example to Pelatiah 
and the other boys. T is verily a shame to thee 
to play such pranks as thou often dost, when thou 
canst be so good an thou wilt.” 

When Nathan was so good as to be praised by 
Dame Twitchell, he felt that his case must indeed 
be serious. 

By great good fortune, as he was going home 
from school, he overtook Granny Allison, who was 
able to hobble but slowly on her staff over the slip- 
pery snow. He hastened to display his scratched 
hand to Granny, to tell her his story, and get her 
opinion of his case. 

u 1 take not much thought of Goody Webster’s 
witchcraft,” said Granny. “ Still ’ t is safe enough 
to bind some healing lotion on thy wound. Thou 
wilt feel better in thy mind, I dare say.” 

“ Yea, verily, Granny,” said Nathan, eagerly. 

“ Ask thy mother then to suffer thee to come 
up to my house presently, and I will attend to it 
for thee,” said Granny. 


332 the young puritans op old hadley. 

Goodwife Ellis felt the possible seriousness of 
Nathan’s hurt, and was glad to have Granny 
Allison prescribe for him. 

As Nathan entered Granny’s kitchen, his nose 
was greeted by the most delicious odor that had ever 
blessed that small member, an odor new to him. 

u Is it my lotion that smelleth so savory ? ” 
asked be, sniffing the goodly smell that filled the 
whole kitchen. 

“ Nay, not so,” replied Granny, her bright eyes 
twinkling merrily behind her round horn specta- 
cles. “ Let me bind this poultice of dried elder 
leaves steeped in milk on thy scratch, and then 
thy tongue shall e’en have a taste of that which 
thy sharp nose hath discovered.” 

The surgery finished, Granny took down the 
door of her brick oven, and with her long-handled 
iron slice drew from its dark depths a large pie, 
steaming with deliciousness. Nathan’s mouth 
watered at the mere sight and smell of it, for pies 
or puddings were the greatest rarity, only seen on 
occasion of high feasts. Sugar was too costly to 
permit of many dainties being eaten, and the 
Puritans were forced to content themselves with 
plain food that supported life, without pampering 
luxurious tastes. 

“ Knowest thou what day this is ? ” asked 
Granny, as she cut a generous section of the pie, 
and placing it on a pewter plate, handed it to 


FOREBODINGS OF WAR. 


333 


Nathan. Nathan almost doubted his eyes when he 
actually saw two fat plums tumbling out of the 
pie’s richness ! 

“ ’T is the twenty-fifth day of December/’ mum- 
bled Nathan, as plainly as he could with his mouth 
already stuffed full of pie. What a toothsome pie 
it was ! 

“ Yea. ’T is the day called Merry Christmas 
in Old England, and a merry day ’t is there. 
The mummers and the carol singers parade gayly 
about the streets, and all the houses are dressed up 
with green, as the poem saith, — 

“ ‘ So now is come our joyfullest feast ; 

Let every man be jolly ; 

Each room with ivy leaves is drest, 

And every post with holly.’ 

And the eating and drinking, and merry-mak- 
ing, — ah, thou canst not conceive of it ! ’T is as 
that same poet saith, — 

‘“Now all our neighbors’ chimneys smoke, 

And Christmas blocks are burning ; 

Their ovens they with baked meat choke, 

And all their spits are turning.’ 

Ah, many is the Merry Christmas I have kept in 
Old England with those that have lain under the 
sod full many a weary year ! ” 

“ But I thought it was a grievous sin to keep 


334 the young puritans of old hadley. 

Christmas day, like the Papists and the folk of the 
Church of England,” said Nathan, before whom 
the pie was fast melting away. 

“ Oh, well, that is as folk look at it,” said Granny. 
“’T was ever a season of much love and kindness 
to the poor, I wot well. I am not as the more 
straitlaced among us. When old Christmas com- 
eth round again, I think it no harm to at least 
bake a toothsome mince pie, in memory of old 
times at home. 

" ‘ Without the door let sorrow lye ; 

And if for cold it hap to die, 

We ’ll bury it in a Christmas pie, 

And evermore be merry , 5 55 

hummed Granny cheerfully to herself, as she cut a 
section of the pie for her own supper. 

But at that moment she noticed that Nathan 
had stopped eating. 

“ What aileth thee, Nathan? ” she asked kindly. 
“ Finish thy pie, boy, and have another portion.” 

“If this be verily mince pie,” said Nathan, 
gazing ruefully on the small but oh, how tempting 
morsel left on his plate, “ I doubt an it be not a 
sin for me to eat it. My father will be sore angry 
with me for committing this sin.” 

“ Perchance Goodman Ellis may object. I wot 
he Is one who wisheth to be ever foremost in 
godliness. He and I think not alike in some 


FOREBODINGS OF WAR. 


335 


things. Yet since thou hast eaten so much, surely 
’t is no greater sin to finish thy portion,” said 
Granny, with kindly thought of the little boy’s 
longings. 

Nathan wavered only an instant. Then, seiz- 
ing his cap, he turned his back resolutely on 
temptation, and hastily fled, saying, — 

“ Good even, Granny ; methinks I shall be late 
home to my supper.” 

As he hurried home in the gathering darkness, 
Nathan debated whether or no to confess to his 
father that he had actually eaten mince pie. 
Perhaps, had it not been for the scratch on his 
hand from Goody Webster’s black cat, he might 
have been tempted to keep to himself what he 
well knew his father would consider a great sin ; 
but now he felt it wise to keep on the safe side of 
Satan and all his works. 

When he entered the house, the family were 
already at supper, and his father, looking at him 
with an ominous frown, said severely, — 

“ Thou art o’er late, Nathan. I fear thou hast 
idled on the way, like the sluggard, instead of 
coming home straightway.” 

“ Nay, father, I e’en came home from Granny’s 
as swiftly as I could,” said Nathan, his rapid 
breathing witnessing the truth of his story. 

“ Why didst tarry so long at Granny Allison’s 
then ? ” 


336 the young puritans of old hadley. 

“ After she had dressed my hand, Granny gave 
me a portion of mince pie,” stammered Nathan. 
“ She affirmed ’t was Merry Christmas — ” 

“ Merry Christmas ! Mince pie ! ” exclaimed 
Goodman Ellis, hardly believing his ears, while 
his wife looked almost in horror on her son. 

“ Such lewd departure from the faith is not to 
be countenanced or excused e’en in so young a 
child as thou, Nathan,” she said. 

“ I looked not to see a son of mine thus 
transgress the tradition of the elders,” said 
Goodman Ellis, severely. “ I must e’en do my 
duty by thee.” 

“ I knew not that ’t was mince pie till after I 
had begun eating of it,” said Nathan, almost 
crying, as his father’s eye rested on a stout rod 
hanging on the wall. “ The moment I knew 
’t was mince pie, I ate not another morsel. 
Verily I did not. Granny Allison will witness 
to it.” 

“ ’T is well thou didst not,” said Goodman Ellis, 
looking softened and relieved. “ ’T is passing 
strange that a woman like Granny Allison practises 
these idolatrous fashions of Old England. In spite 
of her healing skill, she must be admonished by 
our townsmen. ’Tis said that this anti-Christian 
heresy of observing the twenty-fifth instant idola- 
trously beginneth to creep into Boston, favored by 
sundry of the king’s officers. But Mr. Mather and 


FOREBODINGS OF WAR. 


the other watchmen on the towers of Zion set their 
faces like a flint against this pernicious practice, 
crying aloud and sparing not.” 

“ Those that would be godly should beware e’en 
of the name ‘ Merry Christmas,’ ” said Good wife 
Ellis. “Canker beginneth in the tongue.” 

“ No child of mine shall e’er transgress after 
that fashion,” said Goodman Ellis. “ That thou 
mayst ne’er unwittingly sin again, Nathan, thou 
mayst e’en now take thy catechism in hand, and 
con the question, ‘ What is the second command- 
ment ? ’ and its answer, with the three following 
questions and answers, expounding the reasons for 
a pure worship, free from idolatry, and I will hear 
thee recite them e’er thou sleepest.” 

As Nathan sat in the warm chimney seat, half 
nodding over his book, while he drowsily studied 
“the reasons annexed to the second commandment 
are God’s sovereignty over us, His property in us, 
and the zeal He hath to His own worship,” the 
too delicious taste of the forbidden mince pie 
still lingered in memory, and he could not help 
thinking, — 

“ ’T is verily a sore pity that mince pie is so 
wicked when ’t is so toothsome.” 

The big boys had great fun that afternoon when 
their fort was done. Divided into two parties, a 
storm of snowballs flew fast back and forth be- 
tween the settlers inside and the besieging party 

22 


338 the young puritans of old hadley. 

of Indians without, whose mock warwhoop echoed 
far and near, attracting the gaze of several real 
Indians, who, wrapped in furs or blankets, strode 
down the street in the direction of the river, bound, 
no doubt, for the Indian fort on the heights upon 
its west shore. 

The boys knew by sight most of the Indians who 
were in the habit of coming into the settlement to 
traffic their furs and skins for various articles, 
especially rum, when they could find any one that 
would sell it to them. 

Richard Goodman, the deacon’s son, a lively 
youth, threw a snowball at the band of Indians, 
shouting, — 

“ Have a care, Naushapee. We are slaying 
Indians here by the cartload ! ” 

Naushapee did not seem to take this jest as 
Richard expected. Shaking the snow from his 
blanket, he, as well as the other Indians, scowled 
savagely at the boys, making no reply. 

“ Give us the warwhoop, Wappaye,” cried 
Richard, nothing daunted. “ We know not an we 
sound it right. Thou knowest it full well, I dare 
say.” 

Wappaye, a tall, fiercer looking Indian than the 
others, said grimly, — 

“ Before many moons the English boy will know 
well the sound of the Indian warwhoop.” 

“ What thinkest thou Wappaye meaneth by that 


FOREBODINGS OF WAR. 339 

dark saying, Richard ? ” asked Sam Smith, as the 
Indians strode on down the street. 

“ How know I what an Indian meaneth by his 
heathenish gibberish?” said Richard. “ Indians 
care not what lies they utter. Are not they Satan’s 
own children ? ” 

But though Richard affected to make light of 
Wappaye’s saying, nevertheless it haunted and 
troubled him. Another thing too added to his 
vague uneasiness. 

O 

In the early dusk of evening, when the other 
boys had hurried home to do their chores, Richard 
had lingered a few moments behind the" others. 
As he was repairing some breaches made by the 
enemy in the fort walls to be ready for the mor- 
row’s sport, he fancied he saw a strange face re- 
garding him from the back chamber window of 
Mr. Russell’s house, close by. It was not that of 
the minister himself, for Richard had seen him 
walk gravely up the street not long before. Besides, 
it looked like the face of a venerable old man. 

It disappeared even as Richard saw it, so quickly 
that he was uncertain whether he had really seen 
something, or whether it was a vision. 

He felt it best to tell his father that night both 
Wappaye’s saying, and about the strange face. 

“ Thou couldst have seen no living face in the 
house of our godly minister,” said Deacon Good- 
man, “for there is no stranger abiding under his 


34:0 THE young puritans of OLD HADLEY. 

roof. ’T was doubtless an apparition. I know not 
what it portendeth. There be many dark omens 
and portents of late that it is to be greatly feared 
point towards overflowing and heaped up vials of 
wrath ready to be poured out upon the heads of 
God’s people.” 

“ Thinkest thou Wappaye spoke but in jest ? 
asked Richard. 

“ I like not his saying,” replied his father. “ Our 
Indians have not carried themselves o’er friendly 
of late. Wappaye darkly hinted to me last week 
that there would be war between the Indians and 
the white men when the leaves came again. And 
’t is a bad omen that our Indians have not begun 
to apply for land to plant upon next spring, as 
usual with them at this season.” 

“ But why should the Indians desire to fight us, 
father?” asked Richard. 

“ In truth, I know not, my son,” replied the 
deacon. “ We of Hadley and Northampton and 
Springfield bought our lands of the Indians in this 
valley, paying them their own price, and have ever 
striven to carry ourselves friendly towards them, 
meting out justice to them in our courts. Per- 
chance we have been negligent of their souls, not 
laboring in season and out as we should for their 
redemption from heathenism, and so the Lord 
sendeth His judgments upon us. I will counsel 
with Mr. Russell whether a day of fasting, humilia- 


FOREBODINGS OF WAR. 


341 


tion, and prayer might not serve to avert the just 
wrath of God.” 

The next day, as they walked to school together, 
Richard told John Ellis his father’s forebodings of 
a war with the Indians. 

f 

“ Perchance ’t is even so,” said John, “ for 
Nathaniel Warner was at our house yester even. 
He returned from his last trip to the Bay the day 
before the snowstorm. He can go no more till 
spring time, for the path is now impassable. He 
told father that there is great uneasiness in Ply- 
mouth and the other settlements on the Bay over 
the unfriendly carriage of King Philip of the Pok- 
anokets, a powerful and war-like sachem, sorely to 
be feared, an he be unfriendly.” 

“ But I thought that Philip had been brought be- 
fore the Plymouth court and had humbled himself 
and promised to amend his ways, and had signed 
an instrument, promising to carry himself peaceably 
towards the English henceforth ; moreover, that 
he paid yearly a tribute of five wolves’ heads to 
the government at New Plymouth, as a sign of 
fealty. So Mr. Tilton told my father. He had 
it direct from the lips of the godly Mr. Increase 
Mather, on his last trip to Boston.” 

“ Yea, ’t is as thou saith,” said John. “ But all 

savages are crafty, and Philip above all, ’t is said. 
* 

He worketh in the dark. Nathaniel saith the late 
alarm is caused by tidings brought to the Governor 


342 the young puritans of old hadley. 

of New Plymouth by one Sausaman, a praying 
Indian. Sausaman is a Natick Indian, brought up 
in the college at Cambridge, who readily both 
speaketh and writeth English. He dwelt for a 
season in the Pokanoket country, and was em- 
ployed by Philip to write for him, so he knoweth 
that sachem full well. Now Sausaman preacheth 
to the Indians at Natick. Going of late on a visit 
to his friends among the Pokanokets, he saw sun- 
dry suspicious doings that alarmed him. Being a 
baptized Indian, he felt it his duty to warn the 
Governor of Plymouth.” 

“ What saith he ? ” asked Richard, full of 
interest. 

“ He saith that Philip schemeth to engage all 
the sachems in the Massachusetts in a destructive 
war against the English ; that he keepeth his men 
ever in arms, and that many strange Indians 
gather around him. The English too that live 
near Philip are filled with the same forebodings 
and jealousy of Philip’s intentions.” 

“ What do the people of the Bay purpose doing 
about it ? ” asked Richard. 

“ The Governor of New Plymouth will send for 
King Philip to appear before the March court, and 
demand that his arms be delivered up.” 

“ Methinks ’t is most unlikely that our river 
Indians, the Norwottucks and Agawams and 
Pocumtucks, would join with Philip,” said Richard. 


FOREBODINGS OF WAR. 


343 


“ Surely they have no grievances against the 
English.” 

“ Philip hath much power over them, and he 
worketh like a mole in the ground,” said John. 
“ Thou thyself heardst the dark saying of Wappaye, 
which soundeth not o’er friendly, though perchance 
’t was but idle talk to terrify us, and pay us for 
snowballing him.” 

“ Should the Indians make war upon us, I can 
handle a gun as well as a man,” said Richard, 
“ and I trow I would as soon shoot an Indian as a 
wolf.” 

“ An war break out, I stand ready to do my 
part, I promise thee,” said John. 66 For all Mr. 
Eliot’s teachings, ’t is doubtful to my mind that 
these filthy savages have any souls. My good 
Watch seemeth to me to have as much soul as 
such fellows as that drunken Nausliapee and 
Squiskhegan, and the rest, — yea, and more too. 
I ’ll warrant thee that my goodly snapliance will 
make fell havoc among them, an they assault our 
settlement.” 

“ Men and boys, we can send forth a goodly 
troop of brave fighters here in Hadley,” said 
Richard. “ But why dost not put on thy new 
snowslioes, John ? ” 

John carried hung over his shoulder by the 
thongs his pair of snowshoes, which had taken 
several evenings instead of one to finish. He had 


344 the young puritans op old hadley. 

bent his strips of walnut wood into an oblong, 
fish-like shape, ending in a point behind. Across 
this framework were fastened two light pieces of 
wood for his feet to rest upon. The whole frame 
was laced across and across by a network of strong 
strips of dried deerhide, the shoe looking not un- 
like a modern tennis racket. Long thongs of 
the hide were attached to lash the -shoes to his 
feet. 

“ Are they not a brave pair of snowshoes ? ” 
asked John, regarding his work wfith pride. “ I 
dare not put them on now, lest I be tardy at 
school, and Master Younglove give me an extra 
Latin verb to learn, which suits me not. The 
shoes are as yet cumbersome to me. I flounder 
about in the drifts like a moose. I know not how 
’t is. It looketh full easy when the Indians stride 
off in them over the snow.” 

“ Thou must bethink thee that the Indians grow 
up on snowshoes from their youth,” said Richard. 
“ ’T is no wonder they are so dextrous.” 

“ Coming home from school to-night I will prac- 
tise their use,” said John. “ I can be a scout going 
out to reconnoitre from our fort.” 

“Thou ’dst best practise,” said Richard, laugh- 
ing, “ so that, by another winter, thou ’It be ready 
to pursue the Indians through the woods to 
Canada, an need be.” 

“ I ’ll stand ready to do that, or anything else 


FOREBODINGS OF WAR. 


345 


against the savages; thou mayst safely wager,” 
said John. 

The older and wiser heads among the settlers 
did not look so lightly upon a possible war with 
the Indians as did the boys. Some among the 
older of them, who had emigrated from Connecti- 
cut, remembered too well the heart-rending anxi- 
ety, bloodshed, and expense of the Pequot war 
to welcome another contest with the Indians. 

The tidings from the Bay were indeed such as 
to fill the hearts of the settlers in the isolated 
frontier plantations on the Connecticut River with 
grave forebodings. The snow lay unusually deep 
that winter over the almost unbroken, pathless 
forests between them and the Bay, wholly cutting 
off communication with the outside world for long 
months. 

They could only await with anxious hearts the 
coming spring and whatever it might have in store 
for them. Would it be war, — war in its most hide- 
ous shape, with cruel, blood-thirsty savages ? Such 
was the dread thought of many a heart in Hadley 
that winter. 


THE END. 


























































JOLLY GOOD STORIES. 


BY 

MARY P. WELLS SMITH. 


lolly Good Times To=Day. With illustrations by 
Jessie McDermott. l6mo. Cloth. Price, $1.25. 

A sensible book, and it is sensible because it is merry and natural. — New York 
T hues. 

A complete description of the happy every-day life of American children of the 
present day. — Christian Register. 

Natural, every-day children. — Churchman. 

One of the jolliest, most natural, and readable books we have read for many a 
day. — Boston Times. 

A most charming book for children, whose scene is laid in our very midst, is 
Mrs. Mary P. Wells Smith’s “Jolly Good Times To-Day.” The writer, Mrs. 
Fayette Smith, of Avondale, has been very successful in her books for young people^ 
but this is the first instance where she has drawn upon her own beautiful neighbor- 
hood for materials. Apart from the interest felt in a description of people in our 
midst, the book is charming in its fresh, simple presentation of child-life. Mrs. 
Smith has the power of entering directly into the personality of her characters, and, 
as a result, they are real people. The book is full of local references that will interest 
Cincinnatians, and this fact, with its excellence as a story, should make it very popu- 
lar with our young folk. — Cincinnati Tribune. 

The book is rightly named, and is the fifth in a series of volumes bearing similar 
title. It is brimming from cover to cover with healthy, hearty, child’s companionship 
and wholesomely jolly times. It is the story of children whose lives are put in 
pleasant places, where the modern possessions of our day contribute freely to the 
general happiness; where the comradeship of elders gives no undue sense of parental 
authority, but, rather, a friendly sharing of mutual guiding ; where liberal instincts and 
thoughtful living create an atmosphere of growth and of personal privilege, wherein 
ycang lives may unconsciously expand toward a noble future. — Unity. 

“Jolly Good Times To-Day,” by Mary P. Wells Smith, is a very pretty and 
natural story of child-life. The author evidently understands children, and sympa- 
thizes with them in their joys and griefs. She knows, too, how to entertain them in a 
bright, sensible way. — Christian Intelligencer. 


Sold by all Booksellers . Mailed , postpaid , by the 

Publishers , 


ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston. 


Jolly Good Times; or, Child Life on a Farm. Jolly 
Good Times at School. Illustrations by Addie Led- 
yard. l6mo. Cloth. Price, #1.25 each. 

Allow me to express, unasked, the zest and satisfaction with which I have read 
your new children’s book, “ Jolly Good Times, or, Child Life on a Farm.” ... I am 
delighted that while our novelists are apt to ignore the joyous country life of Mew 
England, or to treat it as something bare and barren, it should still be painted in its 
true colors for children. A few literary faults can easily be pardoned in a writer who 
describes thus graphically the healthy pleasures of country children, putting so much 
oxygen into her story that it is like a whiff of wholesome air among the prevailing 
exotic flavors. — From a letter by T. IV. H igginson. 

‘‘Jolly Good Times” not only deserves its title, but the further praise of being 
pronounced a jolly good book. The Kendall children and their neighbors and play- 
mates live in the Connecticut valley, not far from Deerfield. . . . The result is a 
charming local picture, quite worth the attention of English boys and girls, as show- 
ing what New England life is in a respectable farmer’s family, — plain folks who do 
their own work, but entirely free from the low-comic variety of Yankee talk and 
manners too often considered essential to the success of a New England story. — 
The Nation , New York. 

It is redolent of rural odors, vocal with rural sounds, and instinct with the simple 
sweetness of old New England life. . . The children are real creatures, compound* 
of good and evil, full of spirit, yet amiable and obedient. . . . The chapter in wlnct 
the quiet passage of a country Sunday is described is remarkable for its fidelity to fact 
and its graceful expression. “Jolly good times” is as pure as a summer sky, and 
exhilarates without exciting. — Literary World , Boston. 

“ P. Thorne ” is a pseudonym pleasantly associated in the minds of the readers o\ 
the Register with many bright and earnest contributions to its columns. “Jolly Good 
Times at School” is a sequel to her former venture. . . . Pleasing pictures it gives 
us of the school and child-life of New England as it existed twenty-five years ago, 
and as it still exists in the more secluded and rural districts. , . Interwoven here 

and there in the narrative are charming descriptions of the natural beauties and 
characteristic scenes of New England: the “cold snap,” the first snowstorm, the 
exciting “coast down the mountain,” the Indian stories . — Christian Register , 
Boston. 

The Browns. l6mo. Cloth. Price, #1.25. 

The “Jolly Good Times” are two of the best juveniles in American literature. 
The author now adds a third, equally fresh and delightful. — Boston Transcript. 

Domestic life in all its sweetness and truth is graphically and alluringly described 
in “The Browns.” . . . Wholesome, every-day lessons, pleasing, heart-satisfying 
pictures of home life are given in this pure and fresh story, which is as interesting to 
adults as to juveniles — Boston Herald. 

A true children’s story is one of the most difficult branches of the literary art. 
Perfect simpleness and naturalness are its first requisites, and these are qualities which 
“The Browns” possesses in a marked degree. . . . The experiences are those which 
all young people are obliged to meet, and the moral conveyed in the telling of their 
story is delicate, yet plainly put forth in such a manner as to win rather than repel the 
young reader’s interest. ... It is altogether one of the best juvenile stories we have 
in a long time. — Celia Parker Woolley , in Weekly Magazine, Chicago. 

Messrs. Roberts Brothers have published a capital child’s book in “The 
Browns,” by Mrs. Mary P. W. Smith. . . . There is a fine, fresh flavor of country 
life in what she writes, — the air of fields and woods, the light of brooks, and the song 
of birds; and her characters, particularly her children, are thoroughly real and human- 
R. H. Stoddard , in New York Mail and Express. 

We do not remember ever having read a book for children that was so thorough- 
ly admirable in every respect as “The Browns.” From its fidelity to Nature and its 
perfect character-painting, it is of absorbing interest from beginning to end The 
Brown children and their neighbors live in Cincinnati, and we are given a sketch of 
their life from the beginning of the winter till the end of a summer’s vacation spent at 
the seashore. . . . There are few writers who can make a good story for children. It 
is an art of itself. The author of “ The Browns” is easily among’ the first of those 
who can do so. — New York Graphic. 

For naturalness, jollity, good sense, and high moral tone, not many books surpass 
“The Browns,” by Mary P. W. Smith. — Boston Congregationalist. 


Mary P W Smith has given us a charming book in “The Browns.” . , . The 
lessons of forbearance, kindness, obedience, independence, weave themselves into the 
narrative as they do in real experience of wholesome family life, and not in a forced 
and didactic way — New York Nation . 

Jolly Good Times at Hackmatack. Illustrated. l6mo. 
Cloth. Price, $1.25. 

The story is charming, and charmingly told. — Boston Advertiser 

An excellent picture of a simple, homely life that is fast passing away — Chroni- 
cle , San Francisco, Cab 

The author has aimed to catch the spirit of the past age before it becomes 
wholly traditionary, and has amply succeeded. To read it is like stepping into the old, 
simple, thrifty atmosphere of uncorrupted and unsated New England, where people 
lived “near to Nature’s heart ” — Journal , Providence, R I. 

A bit of real literature is Mary P. Wells Smith's “ Jolly Good Times at Hackma- 
tack.” It is a story of the child life of New England sixty years ago ; and it has all 
the vividness of actual experience. There surely is no small reader, boy or girl, who 
can withstand the charm of this recital of the country fun of grandpa’s childhood, and 
no grandpa, who, taking a surreptitious peep at the book, will put it down until he has 
turned the last leaf. Every Christmas sees a swarm of new books for children, not 
many of which deserve to live, but this little volume ought to be preserved as a per- 
manent addition to the chronicles of New England life — New York Tribune. 

A capital children's story is “ Jolly Good Times at Hackmatack.” It is full of 
spirit and fun, graphic in description, sensible and improving without any formality, 
and in a word, just what young people enjoy, and what wise parents give them to 
enjoy. — Congregationalist , Boston 

“ Jolly Good Times at Hackmatack” is a child’s story of western Massachusetts, 
and it excellently reproduces those now distant days when cattle were driven to Boston 
market from half the hill towns of New England, when the minister’s and the lawyer’s 
boys went barefoot like the farmers’, and when country life in New England seemed a 
great deal nearer the soul of things than it has been of late. Mrs. Smith, who writes 
from near Cincinnati, has an agreeable and simple style, and can be read with pleasure 
by many who are older than the children she describes so closely. — Republican , 
Springfield, Mass. 

A charming picture of the old stage-coach days, and the life in the staid country 
minister’s family. The boys and girls who read this interesting book will get a good 
idea of the simple life when their fathers and mothers were young — Christian 
Register , Boston. 

More Good Times at Hackmatack. Illustrated. l6mo. 
Cloth. Price, $1.25. 

A thoroughly charming and enjoyable book. Spring cleaning, soap-making, Fast 
Day, sugaring in the woods, making hay, and other rural sports and labors are told of 
with the most delicious freshness and vividness. To children of a larger growth this 
book will be a perpetual reminder of their own far-off youth and childhood. — Noah 
Brooks , in the Book-Buyer. 

The storv is as clean and wholesome as the air which it breathes. The book is 
full of fun and go; and the boys who are prevented by circumstances over which they 
have no control from having good times at Hackmatack at first hand, can enjoy them 
without difficulty or fatigue in any other part of the world, thanks to Mrs. Mary P. 
Wells Smith. — Chicago Tribune. 

It is a lifelike story of New England country life in the early part of this century, 
and is full of interest of more than one kind. It is photographic in the fidelity of its 
pictures, and is written with vivacity and good judgment. Congregationalist, 
Boston. 

Readers of “Jolly Good Times at Hackmatack” will be delighted to continue 
the story of childhood life long ago in that delightful hill town of western Massachu- 
setts. Whatever may be said of New England life by those who know it only as de- 
picted by Mrs. Stowe, Rose Terry Cooke, Miss Jewett, Miss Wilkins, and others,— 
that it was and is narrow, hard, sordid, gloomy, — it would be hard to convince any 
one who has had a New England country childhood that childhood anywhere else in 
the world could be so wholly delectable. Mrs. Smith writes with that conviction, and 
her story is not a bit too optimistic for youthful readers, or older ones of New England 
rearing. — Providence Journal. 


The series of bright, breezy stories in the present volume will awaken many a 
hearty laugh and bring a sunny hour into many a sombre day. Mrs. Smith’s stories 
are not only cheery and pleasing, but are so simple, pure, and truthful as to be a help- 
ful and stimulating influence to those young people who read them. — Cincinnati 
Herald and Presbyter. 

The latest of the Hackmatack books brings to a close these delightful annals of 
farm life fifty years ago which have taken high rank as bits of real literature. . . . 
Few books so bridge the gulf of years, or bring back so vividly the old ways and 
means as do these simple sketches of New England life. Their charm lies in their 
atmosphere of hearty good-nature, in their fresh and exuberant style, and in their 
entire truthfulness. There is no effort to instruct, or to inculcate a moral, yet the 
teaching is undeniably there. Mrs. Smith is entirely at home in these reminiscences 
of happy childhood, and in what she writes there is an exhiliarating flavor of country 
living quite individual. 

Their Canoe Trip. Illustrated. 16mo. Cloth. Price, 
$ 1 . 25 . 

A pleasant, breezy, out-of-door story. — Literary World, Boston. 

Mrs. Mary P. W. Smith has made a delightful book out of this canoe trip, taken 
by two Boston boys on six New England rivers, which lead them from Francestown, 
N.H., down to their home. ... So bright a book as this ought to show bright boys 
that it is not necessary to become a cowboy in order to have a taste of wild life out of 
doors, but that travels near home can be quite lively enough. — Bulletin , Pittsburgh, 
Pa. 

If all books written expressly for the young w'ere like “Their Canoe Trip,” the 
reviewer would have small need of any vocabulary but that of praise — Boston 
A dvertiser. 

“Their Canoe Trip,” purports to be written by a woman. Almost we do not be- 
lieve it. How can a woman enter so completely into the boys’ substance and come out 
again, bringing with her the very essence of boyishness, its love of adventure, of 
hairbreadth ’scapes, of pretty girls, and good grub? A prominent librarian has said 
that the greatest readers of boys’ books of adventure were girls. Such books as this 
go far to persuade one that the best writers of such books are girls grown up. A very 
few days and only a little over one hundred miles of canoeing furnish the material for 
this pretty volume. From Francestown, N.H . to Roxbury, through the Piscataquog, 
the Merrimac, the Concord, the Asabet, the Charles and Neponset Rivers, two manly 
and merry boys w'ork the Black-Eyed Susan They make from three to six miles a 
day, and not a mile but is set thick with happenings ar.d doings to rivet the reader’s 
interest. There are repeated escapes from a watery grave and from threatened starva- 
tion, from riverside ruffians and factory thieves, from belligerent cows and killing 
maidenly eyes. . . . Boys and girls alike will pronounce this a “ jolly book,” in spite 
of the wet skins and aching bones and mortifying delapidation of its heroes — 
Tribune , Cambridge, Mass. 

“ Their Canoe Trip ” is a charming story, and the most interesting feature is 
that it is really true. Two Roxbury boys actually made the trip in 1875, an d the book 
is dedicated to them. They have had a successful trip, and have learned lessons in 
manliness, endurance, and the power of overcoming unforeseen difficulties which will 
last as long as they live Mrs. Smith makes a delightful story out of their adventures 
by the way, which cannot help interesting youthful readers, it is so full of incident, so 
natural and vivacious — Providence Journal. 

No better book for a bright, healthy boy’s reading has been published this year 
Boston Transcript. 

An uncommonly lively and agreeable story. — New York Tribune. 


These hooks are well adapted for the use of Sunday-School and 
District-School Libraries , or for supplementary reading. 


ROBERTS BROTHERS, BOSTON 


A Jolly Good Summer. Illustrated. l6mo. Cloth. 
Price, $1.25. 

A charming story for younger children. It is a sequel to Mary P. Wells Smith’s 
“ Jolly Good Times To-Day ” of last year, one of the brightest and best of children’s 
stories that we have had. It is a story of real American children to-day, bright, 
cheerful, and enthusiastic, and it will warm little hearts and strengthen little minds 
in whatever homes on this broad continent it is read. “A Jolly Good Summer” 
is recommended to fathers and mothers as a book that they may very readily put into 
the hands of their children with confidence in the resulting good. — States, New 
Orleans, La. 

It is a story of real American children, very bright and sympathetic. — Post, 
Hartford, Conn. 

This story takes up the fortunes of Amy Strong and Kitty Clover and Laura 
Dawson, and the other girls who belong to an earlier book, and goes through an 
entire school vacation, not omitting the Fourth of July, the long and exciting journey 
from Cincinnati to Plymouth, where the Strongs spend some happy weeks of outdoor 
sport, all told in a lively, merry style that makes good reading. Mrs. Smith’s chil- 
dren are real little girls and boys, with a great interest in their plays and each other, 
their dogs and cats and chickens, of the good “ old-fashioned ” sort, neither pre- 
cocious, nor piggish, nor slangy. There is an excellent atmosphere, but no obvious 
effort to apply the lessons of kindness, humanity, and obedience that make of this a 
thoroughly good story. — Republican , Springfield, Mass. 

“A Jolly Good Summer” is a refined and entertaining story for little girls. 
Amy is a child whom it will be a pleasure for a person of nice tastes to see a child 
read about, and enjoy. No reader of the earlier of these “ Jolly Good Times Stories” 
will be disappointed in this worthy sequel to “Jolly Good Times To-Day.” — 
Transcript , Boston, Mass. 

This volume is a continuation of a book “Jolly Good Times To-Day,” with 
many of the characters continued, which were prime favorites with multitudes of 
young readers. The author has the faculty of writing of children as they are. She 
does not make them either angels or imps, but natural boys and girls, full of life and 
activity. The story is located in the beautiful suburbs of Cincinnati. — Inter-Ocean , 
Chicago, 111. 

It is Mrs. Smith’s happy ability to take the incidents of child-life, such a life as 
any child of bright mind and sweet character, blessed with the surroundings of a good 
home, might have, and to record them with such faithfulness to the child’s character 
and yet with such charm in the narrative as to make them engagingly interesting to 
other children, some of whom would have to confess to age verging toward the ninety- 
five years she credits in her last story to one of the favored people of Hackmatack. 
So the child, always the merry, happy child, lives in her books, lives, runs, skips, 
jumps, laughs, sings, studies, plays, sees, hears (and with such observation !), making 
the story, from its first line to the unwelcome “finis,” ring with the happiness of the 
only really happy years of life. — Gazette and Courier , Greenfield, Mass. 


ROBERTS BROTHERS, BOSTON. 


THE 


JOLLY GOOD TIMES SERIES, 

By MARY P. WELLS SMITH. 


Jolly Good Times; or, Child=Life on a Farm. 
Jolly Good Times at School. 

The Browns ; or, Jolly Good Times in the City. 
Their Canoe Trip. 

Jolly Good Times at Hackmatack. 

More Good Times at Hackmatack. 

Jolly Good Times To=Day. 

A Jolly Good Summer. 

Price , $i .25 each. 


Of all the modern books for children there are few so happy and wholesome, so 
honest and simple in tone, as Mary P. W. Smith’s “Jolly Good Times Series.” — 
Tribune , New York. 

The tone of these books is pure and high ; they are absolutely devoid of sensation- 
alism, and they may safely be read by the most sensitive and imitative child with the 
assurance that nothing but good can come from their influence. — Beacon, Boston, 
Mass. 

Few series of juvenile books appeal more strongly to children than the “Jolly 
Good Times Series,” written by Mary P. Wells Smith, and published by Roberts 
Brothers. The naturalness of the stories, their brightness, their truth to boy and girl 
life and character, and the skill with which the author manages incident and dialogue, 
have given them deserved popularity. — Transcript , Boston, Mass. 

One of the famous “ Jolly Good Timas Series ” into which Mary P. Wells Smith, 
or “ P. Thorne ” as she used to be known, has packed so much of childhood’s joys and 
wisdom. There is no forced moralizing, but the stories teach their own sweet lesson 
in childhood’s own natural way. — Golden Ride , Boston, Mass. 

Cheerful and innocent reading, belonging to the class made famous by Miss 
Alcott. — Courant, Hartford, Conn. 

The author has the charming power to take the common incidents of child-life, 
and write them up with such attractive gracefulness as to win the eager and interested 
attention of all who have ever been children. So the children of all ages find some- 
thing to rejoice over and delight in as they read these books. — Herald and Presbyter , 
Cincinnati, Ohio 


Sold by all Booksellers. Mailed , postpaid, \ on receipt of 
price , by 


ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston, Mass. 











